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Ito  Angeles.  Cai. 

MILITARY   LIFE 

'  IN    ITALY 

SKETCHES 

BY 

EDMONDO    DE    AMICIS 

ARMY   OFFICER 


TRANSLATED    BY 

WILHELMINA   W.   CADY 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

27    &    2Q    WEST    23D    STREET 
1882 


COPYRIGHT  BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

1882 


Press  of 

G.  P,  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York 


Two  files  inarched  on  the  right  and  two  on  the  left  of  the  road." 

(Page  i.) 


AUTHOR'S   PREFACE. 

SOME  time  ago,  in  speaking  of  one  of  these  sketches,  two 
readers,  who  were  exceedingly  emotional,  unwittingly  re- 
vealed the  double  purpose  I  had  in  view  when  writing  this 
book. 

A  working  man  said :  "  When  I  had  finished  reading  it, 
I  would  have  gladly  pressed  the  hand  of  the  first  soldier 
whom  I  happened  to  meet." 

A  soldier  said :  "  It  is  a  story  full  of  consolation,  which 
inspires  a  man  with  good-will  for  his  duties." 

Let  the  one  wish  well  to  the  soldier  and  the  other  be  a 
soldier  from  the  heart.  Should  I  succeed  in  obtaining 
these  two  results  in  any  of  my  readers,  I  should  feel  well 
repaid  for  my  pains,  and  my  liveliest  and  most  earnest 
desire  would  be  fulfilled. 


-3 


TO    MY    MOTHER, 

THERESA   BUSSETTI    DE   AMICIS, 

I    DEDICATE    THIS    BOOK, 

REGRETTING    THAT    I    CANNOT    UNITE    HER   DEAR    NAME    WITH 

A    WORK    LOVELY    AS    HER    HEART,    CHOICE    AS    HER 

VIRTUES,     AND     HOLY     AS     HER     LIFE. 


rii 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


1  Two  files  marched  on  the  right  and  two  on  the  left  of  the  road. " 

Frontispiece 

1  He  rushed  breathless  to  the  door,  opened  it,  looked  around,  and  saw 

— the  officer  of  the  day,  erect,  immovable,  and  rigid."          .         .       28 

Saying  which,  he  sprang  at  him,  seized  him  by  the  collar  of  his 
jacket  and  shirt,  pinned  him  with  one  dash  against  the  wall, 
raised  his  clenched  and  trembling  fist,"  etc.  ....  38 

'  That  was  a  large  cafe,  lighted  and  gleaming  with  mirrors,  full  of 

staff-officers,  aides-de-camp,"  etc.         ......     146 

'  At  the  same  moment  she  dashed  with  one  spring  upon  the  lieu- 
tenant, seized  him  with  superhuman  force  about  the  waist,  and 
began  to  kiss  him  furiously  on  his  face,  neck,  chest,"  etc.  .  .  186 

1  Apart  from  the  others,  and  turned  in  the  opposite  direction  from 
the  ship's  course,  were  a  young  man  and  girl  leaning  on  the  rail- 
ing, arm  in  arm,"  etc.  ........  188 

'  Oh  !  here  is  a  door  ;  enter  quickly  with  lowered  bayonets  ;  a  court- 
yard, the  enemy,  a  flag  ;  courage,  on  to  them  !  Around  the  flag 
is  a  bulwark  of  breasts,  bristling  with  motionless  bayonets."  .  200 

'  Little  by  little  the  people,  armed  with  scythes,  picks,  guns,  as- 
sembled," etc.  ..........  378 


MILITARY  LIFE. 


A  MIDSUMMER  MARCH. 

IT  was  a  beautiful  day  in  August ;  not  a  cloud  was  to  be  seen, 
nor  was  there  a  breath  of  wind  stirring  ;  the  air  was  still  and 
burning.  The  road  along  which  the  regiment  was  marching  was 
broad,  straight,  long,  and  seemingly  endless,  and  covered  with 
a  very  fine  dust,  which  rose  in  clouds,  forcing  itself  into  the  eyes, 
mouth,  and  under  one's  clothes,  and  whitening  the  beard  and 
hair.  On  the  right  and  left  of  the  road  were  neither  trees,  bushes, 
not  a  palm's  breadth  of  shade,  nor  a  drop  of  water.  The 
country  was  dry,  bare,  and  deserted  ;  in  the  few  houses  scat- 
tered here  and  there,  reigned  such  absolute  silence  that  they 
seemed  abandoned.  We  could  not  rest  our  eyes  on  the  road, 
the  walls,  or  on  the  fields,  the  sun  beat  so  strongly  on  them  all. 
We  walked  on  with  drooping  head  and  half-closed  eyes.  In 
short,  a  beautiful  August  day,  but  a  very  terrible  one  for  a 
march. 

The  regiment  had  been  moving  for  more  than  an  hour. 
Despite  the  dust  and  suffocating  heat,  the  soldiers  were  still  as 
fresh  and  gay  as  at  the  moment  of  their  departure.  Two  files 
marched  on  the  right  and  two  on  the  left  of  the  road,  and  from 


2  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

one  side  to  the  other  there  was  a  continuous  fire  of  jokes  and 
bon-mots,  with  an  unceasing  interchange  of  coarse  but  witty 
remarks.  From  time  to  time  there  was  a  burst  of  laughter  or  a 
noisy  clapping  of  hands,  that  was  always  followed  by  a  "  To  your 
place,  forward,  order  ! "  which  instantly  restored  quiet  and  si- 
lence. Sometimes  three,  four,  or  five  voices  would  break  out  at 
once  into  some  gay  Tuscan  stornello  j  further  on  was  heard 
a  pathetic  southern  romance,  or  still  beyond,  the  war  song  of  the 
Alps  ;  then  some  would  leave  off  and  others  begin,  and  a  thou- 
sand different  accents  and  dialects  would  succeed. arid  mingle 
with  each  other.  The  march  continued  according  to  regula- 
tions— the  lines  compact,  the  step  free,  the  officers  in  their 
places  ;  every  thing  in  perfect  order.  On  and  on  we  went.  .  .  . 

But — oh,  look  there  ;  the  second  man  of  the  first  line  begins 
to  flag  !  N"ow  I  will  set  him  right.  "  Ho,  there  !  Will  you 
fall  in  or  not  ?  " — He  falls  in. 

Another  ten  or  twelve  paces, — another.  "  Ho,  there  !  Will 
you  march  in  your  place  or  not  ?  Just  look  how  that  flank  is 
moving!  Corpo  di — .  Courage,  let 's  fall  in  ;  quickstep."  A 
rapid  run,  a  great  bumping  of  canteens  against  the  hips,  a 
noisy  dancing  of  cartridges  in  their  boxes,  a  confusion,  a  cloud 
of  dust  which  envelops  and  covers  every  thing.  .  .  .  The 
rear  falls  in  now.  We  must  take  breath  ;  there  is  no  help  for 
it.  One  would  really  need  a  pair  of  iron-bound  lungs  for  this 
sort  of  thing.  It  is  terrible  marching  to-day, — the  sun  burns 
the  brain, — the  dust  stifles  us, — this  road  will  never  end, — and 
these  caps, — if  there  were  only  a  tree,  a  palm's  breadth  of 
shade,  a  drop  of  water  !  But  there  is  nothing.  This  is  really 
a  desert. 

The  songs  we  heard  a  little  while   ago   have  fallen  off  a 


A  MIDSUMMER  MARCH,  3 

note  ;  the  dialogues  are  less  vivacious  ;  the  lines  a  trifle  less 
compact.  The  commander  of  the  first  battalion  is  already  at 
the  head  of  the  second  ;  the  commander  of  the  second  is  at  the 
rear  of  the  third.  You  can  see  now  that  the  regiment  has  been 
marching  for  three  hours. 

The  straight  road  comes  to  an  end  and  begins  to  curve. I 
The  eye  can  no  longer  follow  the  road  and  comfort  itself  with 
the  view  of  the  roofs  in  a  distant  village,  the  bell-tower  of  a 
little  church,  or  any  thing,  in  fact,  that  gives  indication  of  habi- 
tation and  promises  a  halt,  a  short  rest,  a  breathing-space — a 
moment  of  life.  Heavens,  what  a  road  !  We  cannot  see  a 
hundred  steps  ahead.  Courage — forward  ;  five  minutes  more 
and  we  shall  reach  a  turn.  Who  knows  but,  in  turning, 
far  away  in  the  distance  a  little  hamlet  or  clump  of  trees  may 
appear,  where  we  shall  make  a  halt  !  Hope  gives  vigor  ;  we 
steady  our  steps,  have  reached  the  turn,  rush  on  to  reach  the 
new  direction,  stretch  our  necks,  glance  quickly  ahead — houses  ? 
trees  ?  villages  ?  halts  ?  Nothing  !  the  road,  and  nothing  but 
the  road,  to  be  seen  !  A  feeling  of  desperation  takes  posses- 
sion of  all.  The  heads  sink  on  the  chest,  the  eyes  seek  the 
ground,  the  backs  bend  beneath  the  knapsacks  ;  the  lines,  closed 
up  from  the  momentary  pressure,  fall  apart ;  the  rear  gives  the 
step  ;  the  commander  of  the  first  battalion  is  already  at  the 
head  of  the  second,  the  commander  of  the  second  at  that  of  the 
company  which  follows  ;  the  captain — where  can  the  captain  be  ? 

The  songs  we  heard  two  hours  since  have  fallen  off  two 
notes.  The  men  sing  because  they  began  to  do  so  :  perhaps 
they  would  not  begin  again.  The  conversation  is  forced  ;  the 
jokes  have  lost  their  sharpness.  Ah  !  you  can  see  that  the 
regiment  has  been  four  hours  on  its  march. 


4  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

On — on — on  we  go.  The  foreheads,  scorched  by  the  sun, 
dripping  with  perspiration,  are  black,  contracted,  and  disfig- 
ured ;  the  breathing  is  labored  ;  the  lips  hang  down  ;  the  tongue 
has  thickened  ;  the  hands  are  swollen  and  heavy ;  the  soles  very 
painful  ;  there  is  a  drowsiness  and  utter  abandon  throughout 
the  entire  body  ;  the  knapsacks  have  slipped  over  the  loins,  the 
cartridge-boxes  on  to  the  thigh,  the  cloaks  up  around  the 
begrimed  and  soaking  throats  ;  the  cravats  become  loosened  ; 
the  caps  are  shoved  over  the  nape  of  the  neck  or,  if  the  head 
be  bowed,  on  to  the  nose.  The  eyes,  blinded  by  the  strong 
light,  are  either  fixed  motionless  upon  the  road-side,  or  wander 
here  and  there  in  search  of  a  brook,  a  fountain,  a — puddle 
even ;  so  that  the  frightful  heat  which  is  burning  up  the 
body  may  be  mitigated.  Oh,  what  thirst !  At  this  point 
varied  and  confused  recollections  of  cafes  formerly  fre- 
quented (when  we  were  happy)  spring  up  before  the  excited 
imagination  ;  we  see  the  usual  habitue's  of  the  place  slowly 
sipping  great  mugs  of  frothy,  iced  beer  ;  or  springs  of  living 
water  burst  foaming  from  a  rock.  We  hear  its  murmur  and 
see  it  winding  and  losing  itself  in  crystalline  splendor  amid  the 
grass.  Oh,  to  reach  it ! 

"  If  I  ever  do  reach  a  spout  I  will  drink  enough  to  kill  me  ! 
I  will  fly  to  a  cafe,  empty  a  bottle  in  one  breath,  two,  or  if  that 
be  not  enough — three."  .  .  . 

On  and  on  we  go.  The  songs  have  ceased  ;  conversa- 
tion is  dead.  A  forced  joke  falls  occasionally  from  the  lips 
of  the  most  vigorous,  but  in  vain ;  it  is  received  with 
arid  silence.  Silently  we  march.  Many  who  were  at  the 
head,  now,  limping,  find  themselves  at  the  rear.  The  strong- 
est who  were  at  the  rear,  involuntarily  take  the  lead.  The 


A  MIDSUMMER  MARCH.  5 

companies  get  mixed.  "  To  your  place,  to  your  place  !  Is 
that  the  way  to  march  ?"  •  '-.-  .  .  No  one  pays  any  atten- 
tion ;  we  might  as  well  preach  to  stone  walls.  "  Ho,  there — 
why  do  you  stop  ?  Forward,  courage."  "  Lieutenant,  I  can- 
not go  another  step."  "It's  nothing,  nothing,  rouse  yourself, 
forward."  .  .  .  It  's  useless,  he  is  already  sleeping.  "  Close 
up  there.  Courage.  There  is  only  a  short  distance  now." 
"  Ah,  yes,  only  a  little  way  !  That  's  what  they  always 
say,  but  meantime  we  don't  come  to  a  halt, — and  the  soup  this 
morning  was  water, — and  they  have  n't  given  the  loan  yet. 
With  such  a  sun  they  might  have  allowed  us  to  start 
earlier.  We  don't  halt  at  all, — and  the  broth, — and  the  loan  " 

"  Make  way  there  !"  "What  is  it?  Who  is  coming?"  There  is 
the  mad  dashing  by  of  a  horse,  a  cloud  of  dust, — he  has  passed. 
It  was  a  staff -officer. 

"  Yes,  here  is  one  of  the  people  who  make  us  run.  It  is 
quite  easy  for  him  on  horseback  to  shout  out  forward  to  us  on 

foot  !  If  he  had  the  knapsack Oh,  ho,  lift  up  those 

feet  of  yours  ;  is  n't  there  enough  dust  already  ?  " 

Many  stop  ;  many,  slackening  their  pace,  let  their  own  com- 
pany pass  on  in  order  to  stop  unseen.  The  voices  of  their  su- 
perior officers  sound  more  irritable  than  authoritative.  The 
orders  come  more  and  more  rarely.  The  commander  of  the 
first  battalion Where  is  the  commander  of  the  first  bat- 
talion ?  Ah,  you  can  easily  see  that  the  regiment  has  been 
marching  for  five  hours  ! 

"  Hullo  !  what 's  this  ? "  The  blast  of  a  trumpet  is  heard.  A 
prolonged  oh  !  resounds  from  one  end  of  the  column  to  the 
other.  All  halt,  and  then  begins  a  confusion,  a  hurly-burly,  a 


6  MILITARY  LIFE. 

tossing  up  of  knapsacks,  a  falling  of  muskets,  a  rolling  away  of 
caps  into  the  ditches  by  the  way-side,  a  running  to  right  and 
left.  In  two  minutes  the  regiment  has  disappeared.  In  those 
ditches  on  either  side  of  the  road,  there  is  a  pushing,  a  shout- 
ing, a  disputing  with  the  elbows,  and  by  well-aimed  thrusts,  for 
a  palm's  breadth  of  shade,  or  a  bit  of  turf.  Through  the  fields 
there  is  a  coming  and  going  of  thirsty  men  in  search  of  water. 
Some  are  looking,  some  run  into  each  other,  while  others  come 
to  a  standstill,  like  a  procession  of  ants  on  the  bark  of  a  tree. 
There  is  a  begging  for  a  drink  in  lamentable  tones  of  voice, 
refusals  irritably  uttered,  or  forced  concessions,  and  pulling 
away  of  the  canteens  in  jealous  fury.  Little  by  little  the 
tumult  subsides,  the  general  movement  diminishes,  quiet  re- 
turns ;  all,  comfortably  or  uncomfortably,  as  the  case  may  be, 
lie  stretched  out  on  the  ground,  close  their  eyes,  and  rest. 
One  moment  more,  and  the  entire  regiment  will  be  sleeping. 
"  Make  way,  make  way  there,  boys  !  A  little  room  only — 
Heigh,  there !  lookout  or  the  wheels  will  pass  over  you. 
Take  up  that  knapsack  from  the  middle  of  the  road — A  little 
more  room,  so — make  way  for  me."  "  Ha,  here's  the  bearer  of 
life,  here  's  the  friend  of  brave  men  —  here  's  Providence, 
the  sutler !  "  The  sleeping  stir,  rub  their  arms,  rub  their  eyes, 
raise  themselves  on  their  elbows — up — up — here  they  all  are  on 
their  feet.  They  rush  and  gather  round  the  cart,  and  dash 
over  it  as  waves  do  over  a  ship  in  a  gale.  Above  that  crowd 
there  is  a  raising  of  hands,  a  stretching  out  of  arms,  a  giving 
and  receiving  of  money,  angry  complaints  of  having  been  there 
an  hour  without  getting  a  thing,  a  persistency  both  threatening 
and  supplicating.  The  poor  man  who  is  breathless,  perspiring, 
and  puffing,  begs  for  a  little  space,  a  little  breathing-room. 


A  MIDSUMMER  MARCH.  7 

Another  blast  of  the  trumpet ;  it  is  the  Attention  !  which  is 
followed  by  a  long  murmur  of  surprise  and  discontent.  "  There 
is  n't  time  to  swallow  a  mouthful  !  It  would  have  been  better 
not  to  have  stopped  at  all !  They  certainly  want  to  kill  us  !  " 
The  crowd  disperses  slowly ;  those  lying  down  sit  up  wearily  ; 
some  rise  to  their  feet^  slowly  ;  others  stand  there  and  enjoy 
the  last  moment,  the  last  instant ;  little  by  little  all  have  sprung 
from  the  ditches  on  the  way-side,  the  knapsacks  are  on  their 
shoulders,  the  lines  are  formed.  Another  blast,  the  first  company 
moves,  the  second,  the  third — the  entire  regiment  is  in  motion. 
"  Fall  in  there,  eh  !  Don't  let  us  have  any  repetition  of  the 
former  confusion." 

For  a  half  hour  things  go  a  trifle  less  badly  than  before, 
though  the  entire  body  feels  painfully  the  shortness  of  the  rest, 
and  not  all  the  men  were  able  to  quench  their  thirst.  "  But 
look  how  that  rear  is  marching  !  Will  you  close  up  there  ? " 
For  a  half  hour,  as  I  said,  things  go  a  trifle  less  badly  than 
before;  the  lines  are  compact,  the  man  who  was  behind  has 
caught  up  with  his  company,  the  officers  are  back  at  their  posts. 
"  But  how  this  sun  burns  !  This  is  African  heat !  It 's  impos- 
sible to  stand  it  !  "  The  feet  have  no  longer  strength  enough  to 
raise  themselves  from  the  ground,  they  drag  along  ;  the  arms 
hang  at  the  side,  the  belt  slides  over  the  hips,  the  straps  of  the 
knapsacks  clasp  the  shoulders,  the  cloak  weighs  heavily  on  the 
stomach.  "  And  we  don't  reach  our  destination  !  Where  are 
they  taking  us  to  ? " 

"  A  fountain  !  a  fountain  ! "  A  cry  of  joy  greets  this  news. 
The  lines  break  up  ;  all  run  forward,  by  fives,  sixes,  and  tens, 
dashing  breakneck  fashion  on  the  water  ;  then  follow  blows, 
pushes,  squabbles,  shouts,  and  thrusts.  "To  your  places,  to 


8  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

your  places,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  "  shouts  an  indignant  officer. 
The  throng  breaks  up  and  spreads  in  all  directions  ;  many, 
whose  stomachs  are  loaded  down  with  water,  try  in  vain  to 
regain  their  places  ;  others  reach  theirs  after  a  breathless  run, 
and  are  obliged  to  stop  shortly  thereafter  ;  some  stop  for  an- 
other moment,  if  only  to  give  a  last  glance  at  the  blessed  water  ! 
Strength  is  failing,  the  vacant  spaces  grow  larger,  the  ditches  are 
filled  with  the  exhausted  ;  all  are  tottering  and  falling.  Sud- 
denly, at  a  turn  of  the  road,  a  bell-tower  and  a  village  ap- 
pear in  sight.  "  It  is  the  station  !  it  is  the  station  !  "  The  cry 
spreads  in  an  instant  from  head  to  the  rear  ;  the  effect  is  mir- 
aculous ;  strength  returns,  the  lines  close  up,  the  companies 
re-form,  the  stragglers  run  forward,  and  every  thing  is  changed. 
The  music  starts  up  ;  we  are  at  the  village  ;  we  enter.  The 
doors  of  the  factories,  the  openings  of  the  streets,  the  windows 
and  balconies  fill  with  inquisitive  people  ;  here  and  there  little 
faces  full  of  tender  curiosity  appear  at  the  window-sills. 
"  Poor  fellows,  how  tired  they  must  be  ! "  Oh,  the  effect  of 
those  eyes  !  The  man  who  was  walking  doubled  up  straight- 
ens himself,  with  a  supreme  effort,  for  the  last  time  ;  he  who 
was  limping  assumes  a  resolute  gait ;  and  he  who  was  just 
ready  to  drop,  utterly  worn  out,  takes  courage  and  pulls 
on.  "  Ho,  there  !  where  are  you  going  ?  "  "A  swallow  of 
water,  lieutenant."  "  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Back  to  your  place  !  " 
"Oh,  how  cruel!"  murmur  the  compassionate  mammas  who 
happen  to  be  standing  around  ;  "  how  they  do  treat  those  poor 
boys  !  Not  even  a  swallow  of  water  !  " 

The  regiment  has  passed,  stacked  arms,  pitched  the  tents. 
Oh,  what  a  gay  and  animated  camp  !  And  are  the  fatigues 
and  trials  of  the  marches  remembered  ? 

Ah,  not  even  in  their  dreams  ! 


THE  ORDERLY. 

They  had  been  living  together  for  four  years  ;  nor  had  either 
of  them  forgotten  for  a  single  moment  that  one  was  the  officer, 
the  other  the  soldier.  The  former  was  austere  as  a  soldier,  the 
latter  correspondingly  submissive.  They  loved  each  other ; 
but  with  that  hard,  rough,  silent  affection,  which  never  makes 
any  display,  nor  reveals  itself,  and  which  conceals  a  demonstra- 
tion of  tenderness  under  a  rude  action;  is  eloquent  when  si- 
ent,  embarrassed  when  speaking ;  inimical  to  blandishments, 
and  accustomed,  when  feeling  the  desire  to  weep,  to  bite 
the  lips  and  withhold  the  tears  for  fear  of  appearing  weak 
and  unmanly.  They  used  a  laconic  language  to  one  another  ; 
understood  each  other  by  monosyllables,  glances,  and  signs. 
Their  common  interpreter  was  the  watch,  which  regulated 
every  thing,  even  their  steps  and  words,  with  the  strictest  disci- 
pline. "  Lieutenant,  do  you  wish  any  thing  more  ?  "  "  Noth- 
ing." "May  I  go?"  "Go."  This  was  the  daily  form  of 
dismissal.  Not  one  word  more.  So  days,  months,  and  years 
had  passed — four  years  in  all — in  quarters,  at  home,  in  camp, 
on  the  march,  and  in  war,  and  little  by  little  a  deep,  stern 
sort  of  affection,  almost  unknown  to  them,  had  grown  up  in 
their  two  hearts.  There  was  in  that  invariable  taciturnity, 
that  soldierly  way  of  speaking,  the  fugitive  exchange  of 
glances  which  meant  on  one  side,  "  Do  this,"  and  on  the 

9 


I O  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

other,  "  I  understand,"  for  any  one  who  knew  the  natures 
of  these  two,  as  much  courtesy,  kindness,  and  warm  feeling 
as  could  be  found  in  the  most  expansive  interchange  of  ten- 
derness. 

They  had  stood  side  by  side  on  the  battle-field  at  solemn 
moments,  within  a  few  paces  of  the  enemy's  cannon,  and  at 
every  whistle  of  the  shot  one  had  glanced  quickly  around  in 
search  of  the  other,  and  on  finding  him  had  heaved  a  sigh 
while  thinking,  "  This,  too,  has  passed."  They  had  stood 
guard  together  on  the  outposts  more  than  one  cold  and  rainy 
night,  with  their  feet  in  the  mud,  the  wind  blowing  on  their 
faces,  and  in  the  morning,  when  the  relief  arrived,  had  ex- 
changed smiles,  as  if  to  say  :  "  Now  we  are  going  back  to 
camp  ;  keep  up  your  spirits,  for  you  can  rest."  Many  times, 
on  a  long  summer's  march,  both  had  looked  at  the  same 
moment  to  count  the  mile-stones  on  the  way-side,  and  often 
found  them  to  have  numbered  more  than  forty,  exchanging,  when 
they  reached  the  last,  a  glance  full  of  comfort  and  pleasure, 
which  seemed  to  say  :  "  There  are  two  more — one  more — here 
we  are !  "  More  than  one  evening  in  camp,  when  they  were  pre- 
paring their  minds  for  the  musket-shot  that  was  to  wake  them  be- 
fore morning,  after  one  was  stretched  out  under  the  tent  and  the 
other  had  arranged  his  overcoat  to  protect  him  from  the  night 
air,  the  soldier  said  in  moving  off,  "  Good-night,  lieutenant," 
and  the  officer,  fancying  that  the  voice  trembled  slightly, 
and  that  the  last  word  had  not  come  out  in  full  force, 
returned  the  salute  in  the  same  tone.  At  other  times, 
while  one  handed  the  other  a  letter,  and  the  latter  put  out 
his  hand  impatiently  to  take  it,  a  slight  smile  had  passed 
over  their  two  faces  : — "  It  is  a  letter  from  home  :  I  recognize 


THE   ORDERLY.  II 

the  writing  ;  it  is  from  your  mother."  One  meant  to  say, 
"  Thanks  "  ;  the  other  had  intended  to  reply,  "  You  have  an- 
ticipated my  pleasure." 

After  which  they  both  returned  to  their  customary  silent 
and  severe  modes  of  address.  Not  once,  in  presenting  him- 
self before,  or  upon  leaving  his  superior,  did  the  proud  sol- 
dier forget  to  put  his  hand  to  his  cap  in  a  resolute  manner, 
raising  his  head  as  he  did  so,  and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  his 
face,  and  when  he  went  away,  his  right-about-face  was  al- 
ways performed  according  to  regulations. 

They  had  only  been  living  together  for  four  years  ;  but  the 
soldier,  who  had  been  made  an  orderly  after  the  first  year 
of  duty,  was  completing  his  term  of  service. 

One  day  the  commandant  of  the  corps  received  orders  to  dis- 
miss the  class  to  which  the  orderly  belonged. 

That  day,  between  the  officer  and  the  soldier,  there  passed 
few  more  words  than  usual,  but  their  two  hearts  talked  at 
length.  "Do  you  require  any  thing  more?"  "Nothing." 
;'  The  order  to  dismiss  your  class  has  arrived  ;  you  will  leave 
in  ten  days." 

A  brief  silence  followed  without  their  eyes  meeting. 
"  May  I  go  ?  "     "  Yes,  certainly."     This   time  a  certainly  was 
added,  and  this  was  a  great  step  on  the  road  to  tenderness. 

They  were  both  sad  at  heart,  but  not  to  an  equal  degree. 
One  lost  his  friend — in  fact,  more  than  a  friend,  a  brother, 
who  loved  him  with  an  almost  religious  devotion.  The  other, 
too,  lost  a  friend,  a  brother  ;  but  the  former  remained,  the 
latter  returned  to  his  home,  and  this  was  a  great  comfort.  To 
return  home  !  After  so  many  years,  so  many  perils  •  after  hav- 
ing asked  himself  so  often  of  an  evening — when  the  long,  sad 


1 2  MI  LIT  A  R  Y  LIFE. 

notes  of  the  bugle  give  the  signal  for  extinguishing  lights,  and 
under  the  tents  they  died  out,  and  through  the  movable  city 
of  linen  spreads  a  deep  quiet — after  having  asked  himself 
so  often  of  an  evening,  while  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand 
in  moments  of  melancholy,  and,  thinking  of  his  mother  : 
"  What  is  the  poor  woman  doing  now  ?  "  After  having  heard 
so  many  times  in  camp,  here  and  there  in  the  groups  of 
peasants,  the  notes  of  the  rural  ritornelli,  the  same  that  he 
had  listened  to  at  home,  in  summer,  when  watching  in  the 
fields  where  the  bright  moonlight  fell,  and  among  so  many 
voices  of  friends  and  relations  he  heard  distinctly,  one,  clear, 
silvery,  and  tremulous,  which  so  well  knew  its  way  to  his 
heart  ;  to  return  !  after  having  so  often  blessed  those  songs  as 
a  greeting  from  the  absent  mother.  To  return  unexpectedly 
and  see  once  more  the  country  and  houses,  recognize  from 
a  distance  the  well-known  roof,  to  hasten  his  steps,  arrive 
breathless  in  that  dear  meadow,  see  the  little  sister  now  grown 
up,  and  the  younger  brother  now  quite  a  stripling,  appear  be- 
fore his  eyes.  The  others  gather  at  their  cry,  and  he  dashes 
into  their  midst,  then  breaks  away  from  all,  runs  to  the  house, 
calls  the  old  mother,  sees  her  come  forward  with  outstretched 
arms  and  eyes  filled  with  tears,  throws  himself  on  her  neck, 
and  feels  the  pressure  of  those  beloved  arms  and  experiences 
the  most  profound  of  human  joy — these  are  things  of  which 
the  thought  alone  suffices  to  sweeten  any  bitterness  and  heal 
any  wound. 

Yet  the  idea  of  being  obliged  to  leave  his  officer  cuts  the  poor 
fellow  to  the  quick.  Then,  too,  a  true  soldier  never  takes  off 
the  coat  which  has  served  so  many  years  as  a  covering  and  a 
pillow,  and  upon  which  he  has  expended  so  much  labor  with 


THE  ORDERLY.  13 

soap  and  brush,  without  feeling  a  certain  sinking  at  the  heart, 
an  anxious  and  scornful  tenderness,  like  the  separation  from  a 
friend  who  has  often  offended  us,  and  with  whom  we  should 
like  to  keep  up  the  quarrel,  but  who  has  always  been  esteemed 
and  loved.  Those  pockets  at  the  back,  where  in  prison  he  con- 
cealed his  pipe  at  the  appearance  of  the  officer  of  the  guard 
and  for  which  (until  he  has  overcome  the  old  habit)  he  still 
searches  with  his  hands.  .  .  .  What  a  nuisance  not  to 
find  it  any  longer  there  ! 

The  good  officer  had  become  pensive  and  had  added  not  one 
word  to  his  usual  formula.  So  it  was  with  the  soldier  too.  But 
their  glances  were  more  frequent  and  longer,  and  they  seemed 
to  say  :  "  You  are  suffering,  I  know."  The  soldier  performed 
his  duties  more  slowly,  in  order  to  remain  longer  in  the  house 
and  compensate  himself,  during  those  last  days,  for  the  ap- 
proaching separation.  At  first  he  proceeded  with  a  certain 
slowness  ;  then  with  a  sluggishness,  apparently  studied  ;  at  last 
pretended  to  dust  the  tables  and  chairs ;  but  more  often 
absorbed  in  his  sad  thoughts,  he  moved  his  cloth  quite 
blindly  without  touching  anything.  Meanwhile,  the  officer, 
erect  and  immovable,  with  arms  crossed  before  the  mir- 
ror, which  reflected  the  figure  of  his  soldier,  followed  his  steps, 
the  movements  of  the  face,  and  avoided  the  other's  glances 
by  quickly  raising  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  in  an  abstracted  man- 
ner. "  Lieutenant,  may  I  go  ? "  "  Yes,  certainly."  And  the 
soldier  took  his  departure.  He  had  not  gone  down  two  steps 
when  from  within  came  a  hurried  :  "  Come  here,"  and  he 
returned.  "  Do  you  require  any  thing  else  ?"  "Nothing.  I 
wished  to  tell  you."  ..."  Nothing — nothing  ;  you  can  do 
it  to-moirow — go  now."  Perhaps  he  had  called  him  back  to 


14  MILITARY  LIFE. 

see  him,  and,  on  his  moving  off  again,  he  continued  to  fasten 
his  eyes  upon  the  door  through  which  he  had  passed. 

Finally,  the  day  for  departure  came.  The  officer  was  at  home 
seated  at  the  table  opposite  the  half-closed  door.  Half  an  hour 
later  the  soldier  would  be  obliged  to  come,  take  leave,  and  go 
away.  He  was  smoking,  blowing  the  clouds  of  smoke  into  the 
air,  and  with  his  eye  lazily  followed  its  slow  and  tortuous  course 
until  it  melted  into  the  atmosphere.  The  smoke  which  got  into 
his  eyes  made  the  tears  gather,  and  he  wiped  them  away  from 
time  to  time  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  wondering  why  such 
big  tears  should  fall  just  as  if  he  were  crying.  He  attributed 
it  all  to  the  smoke,  wished  to  delude  himself  as  to  his  emotion, 
dissimulate  to  himself,  and  ascribe  to  the  cigar  that  which  really 
belonged  to  the  heart.  He  thought  :  Yes — he  might  have  ex- 
pected it.  So  why  should  he  take  it  so  to  heart  ?  Did  n't  I 
know  when  I  took  him  that  I  could  not  keep  him  always  ? 
Did  I  not  know  that  the  term  of  service  was  five  years  ?  And 
this  man  has  a  home,  a  family,  where  he  was  born  and  has 
grown  up,  which  he  left  with  sorrow,  and  to  which  he  will  re- 
turn with  joy  ?  Could  I  expect  that  he  would  continue  a  sol- 
dier out  of  affection  for  me  ?  I  should  be  an  egotist — in  fact 
I  am  one.  What  tie  of  gratitude  binds  him  to  me  ?  What 
have  I  done  for  him  !  What  does  he  owe  me  ?  Oh,  a  great 
deal  certainly.  I  have  never  been  other  than  harsh  to  him. 
I  have  always  been  to  him  like  a  father  of  the  inquisition. 
It  's  my  temperament,  to  be  sure,  what  can  I  do  ?  It  is 
useless.  I  cannot  find  words  with  which  to.  express  certain 
thoughts.  And,  then,  .  .  .  they  must  not  be  uttered.  But 
at  least  I  can  give  a  rather  more  human  expression  to  my  face. 
.  .  .  Now  he  is  going  away,  is  going  back  to  work  in 


THE   ORDERLY.  1 5 

the  fields,  to  take  up  his  old  life  again,  and  little  by  little  he 
will  lose  all  his  military  habits  and  will  forget  everything,  .  .  . 
his  regiment,  comrades,  and  officers.  Never  mind,  so  long  as 
he  is  contented.  But  shall  I  be  able  to  forget  him  ?  How 
much  time  will  have  to  elapse  before  I  become  accustomed  to 
a  new  face  ?  Upon  waking  in  the  morning,  shall  I  not  seem 
to  see  him  hard  at  his  work  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  but  so 
quietly  that  he  scarcely  moves  for  fear  of  arousing  me  before 
the  time  ?  How  many  times,  when  half  asleep,  shall  I  not  call 
him  by  name.  So  many  years  of  companionship,  devoted  at- 
tachment, affectionate  service,  and  then  .  .  .  To  see  him 
go  away  .  .  .  from  one  day  to  another.  Bah  !  it  is  our 
profession,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  said.  We  must  be  re- 
signed. .  .  .  What  a  good  fellow  !  What  a  heart  he  has  ! 
If  sometimes  when  marching,  overcome  by  fatigue,  burned 
by  the  sun,  choked  with  dust,  I  stopped  a  moment  and  glanced 
around  as  if  in  search  of  a  little  water,  a  canteen  instantly  ap- 
peared before  me  and  a  voice  at  my  side  said  :  "  Do  you  wish 
a  drink,  lieutenant  ?  "  It  was  he.  He  had  left  the  ranks,  run 
to  fetch  water  *  *  *  at  a  distance  perhaps,  who  knows 
where,  had,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  returned  panting,  drip- 
ping with  perspiration  and  exhausted,  and  came  behind  me  to 
wait  until  I  had  shown  a  desire  to  drink.  In  camp,  if  I  fell 
asleep  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  and  the  sun  gradually  began 
to  shine  in  my  face,  a  careful  hand  raised  a  green  bough  at 
the  side,  or  stretched  a  tent,  or  placed  three  or  four  knap- 
sacks on  top  of  one  another,  or  spread  a  cloak  over  a  stack 
of  arms  ;  whose  hand  was  it  ?  His  always.  Hardly  had  we 
arrived  at  a  station,  after  six,  seven,  or  eight  hours'  march, 
barely  were  the  tents  unfolded,  when  he  disappeared  ;  and  I 


1 6  MILITAR  Y  LIFE, 

began  to  look  for  and  call  him  at  the  top  of  my  voice  all  over 
the  camp,  then  getting  angry  :  where  is  he  ?  who  knows  where 
he  has  hidden  himself  ?  What  a  scamp  he  is.  Is  this 
the  way  to  do  ?  Just  wait  till  he  comes  and  I  '11  fix  him, 
and  so  on  in  this  tone.  A  moment  later  I  saw  him  appear  in 
the  distance  bent  under  a  great  load  of  straw,  with  uncertain 
steps  and  great  bounds,  shouting  to  right  and  left  at  the  peo- 
ple who  wished  to  carry  off  a  handful,  tripping  over  tent 
cords,  leaping  hedge  and  ditches,  hitting  the  knapsacks  and 
shirts  stretched  out  in  the  sun,  stumbling  into  those  sleeping, 
and  drawing  down  upon  his  devoted  head  a  regular  shower  of 
oaths  and  imprecations.  He  reached  my  side,  threw  down 
the  straw,  heaved  a  great  sigh,  wiped  his  forehead  and  said  : 
"  Lieutenant,  I  have  kept  you  waiting,  haven't  I  ?  but  you  must 
excuse  me  for  I  had  to  go  so  far  !  "  Then  he  would  stretch  the 
straw  on  the  grass  the  length  of  my  body,  pile  it  up  on  one 
end,  put  his  knapsack  under  it  as  a  pillow,  and  turning  to  me, 
would  say  :  "  Will  that  do,  lieutenant  ? "  Good  fellow,  I  thought, 
I  was  wrong  to  get  angry  with  you.  "  Go,"  I  said  then,  "go 
and  rest,  for  you  need  it."  "  But  is  it  all  right  ?  "  he  insisted  ; 
"if  not,  I  '11  go  and  fetch  some  more."  "Yes,  yes  ;  it  's  all 
right ;  go  and  rest  ;  go  ;  do  not  lose  any  more  time."  And  on 
a  march  at  night,  if  I  were  seized  by  sleep  and  walked,  as  one 
is  apt  to  do,  staggering  and  tottering  from  one  side  of  the  road 
to  the  other,  and  in  doing  so  came  too  near  .a  ditch,  a  light 
hand  was  placed  on  my  arm  and  pushed  me  gently  toward  the 
middle  of  the  road,  while  a  subdued  and  timid  voice  mur- 
mured :  "  Look  out,  lieutenant,  there  is  the  ditch."  It  was 
always  he  !  What  have  I  done  to  this  man  that  he  should 
overwhelm  me  with  the  care  and  tenderness  of  a  mother? 


THE   ORDERLY.  1 7 

What  am  I  that  he  should  love  me  with  so  much  devotion  ? 
What  do  I  deserve  that  he  should  live  only  for  me  ?  and  I  am 
sure  he  would  give  his  life  for  me.  For  what  reason  and  in 
what  way  has  this  poor  young  fellow  with  his  rough  features, 
hands  hardened  by  the  spade,  his  frame  toughened  by  discom- 
forts and  fatigue,  without  culture  or  education,  born  and 
brought  up  in  a  humble  hut  in  the  country,  quite  unused  to  all 
the  ways  of  the  city,  become  as  bashful  and  gentle  as  a  girl,  so 
that  he  holds  his  breath  for  fear  of  disturbing  my  slumbers, 
and  touches  my  clothes  with  his  hand  to  ward  off  some  danger 
from  me,  hands  me  a  letter  holding  it  with  his  finger  tips,  as 
if  he  feared  to  profane  it,  and  feels  happy  at  a  kind  smile,  a 
polite  word,  a  sign,  or  a  look  that  says,  "  All  right."  How  is 
this  ?  Ah  !  one  must  confess  that  the  human  heart  learns  in 
these  garments  new  throbs  unknown  to  him  who  is  not  or  has 
not  been  a  soldier.  People  do  not  suppose  that  we  are 
stirred  by  other  sentiments  than  those  which  fill  the  soul  in 
days  of  war.  But  people  in  truth  know  little  of  us.  They  do 
not  understand  that  in  being  a  soldier  the  heart  never  grows 
old,  but  is  rejuvenated,  and  reopens  to  the  lovely  affections  of 
early  life,  and  lives  and  exults  in  them  much  more  than  in  the 
stormy  and  terrible  excitement  of  war.  .  .  .  Oh,  no  one 
who  is  not  a  soldier  will  ever  comprehend  what  a  feeling  of 
affection  binds  me  to  this  young  fellow.  It  is  impossible.  You 
must  have  passed  many  nights  in  camp,  have  made  long 
marches  in  the  month  of  July,  have  been  on  picket  duty  in  a 
pouring  rain,  have  suffered  hunger  and  thirst  until  ready  to 
drop,  and  have  had  a  friend  at  your  side  who  has  placed  his 
cloak  over  you  to  protect  you  from  the  cold,  has  dried  your 
clothes,  has  brought  you  a  swallow  of  water,  offered  you  a 


18  MILITARY  LIFE. 

piece  of  bread,  depriving  himself  of  that  which  he  offered  you. 
Servant,  domestic, — could  any  one  call  him  this  ?  Oh,  he  ex- 
claims (giving  vent  to  a  movement  of  scorn  and  repugnance), 
it  is  libel  !  Yes,  .  .  .  because  when  this  man  comes  to 
the  doorway  and  salutes  me,  and  gives  that  look  full  of  timid 
and  affectionate  submission,  I  feel  that  the  sign  I  give  in  order 
that  he  drops  his  hand,  is  as  full  of  respect  as  the  act  which 
he  performs  in  raising  it.  ...  This  man  is  going  away 
from  me — leaves  me  alone — and  I  shall  see  him  no  more.  No, 
that  can't  be  ;  I  will  go  and  look  him  up  ;  I  will  go  and  find 
him  when  he  is  dismissed  ;  I  know  the  name  of  his  town,  I 
will  ask  that  of  his  parish  and  little  farm,  and  then  I  will  sur- 
prise him  at  work  in  the  fields  and  call  him  by  name.  "  Don't 
you  remember  your  officer  ? "  "  Whom  do  I  see  !  lieutenant, 
you  here  !  "  he  will  say,  overcome  by  emotion.  "Yes,  I  wanted 
to'see  you.  Come  here  my  dear  good  soldier  and  embrace  me  !  " 

At  this  point  he  hears  a  light,  slow,  unequal  step  on  the 
stairs,  like  that  of  a  person  who  is  lingering  as  if  trying  to  delay 
his  ascent.  He  listens  attentively  without  turning  his  head  ; 
the  step  approaches  ;  his  heart  strings  tighten  ;  he  turns ;  here 
he  is — it  is  he — the  orderly. 

His  face  wore  a  disturbed  expression  and  his  eyes  were  red  ; 
he  saluted  ;  took  a  step  forward,  and  stood  looking  at  the  offi- 
cer. The  latter  kept  his  face  turned  away. 

"  Lieutenant,  I  am  going  away." 

"Good-by,"  replied  the  latter  pressing  his  lips  at  every  word, 
and  continuing  to  look  in  the  other  direction.     "  Good-by.     A 
pleasant  journey    .     .     .     return  home    .    «     .    work    . 
continue  to  live  like  a  good  man,  as  you  have  lived  up  to  this 
time.     Good-by." 


THE   ORDERLY.  19 

"  Lieutenant !  "  exclaimed  the  soldier  in  a  trembling  voice, 
taking  a  step  toward  him. 

"  Go,  go,  or  you  will  be  too  late ;  go,  it  's  late  already — 
hurry." 

And  he  stretched  out  his  hand — the  soldier  pressed  it 
warmly. 

"  A  pleasant  journey  to  you,  and  remember  me.  Remember 
your  officer  sometimes." 

The  poor  fellow  wished  to  reply  ;  tried  to  utter  a  word,  and 
gave  a  groan  ;  pressed  the  hand  once  more,  turned,  looked  at 
the  door,  glanced  again  at  the  officer  who  continued  to  keep 
his  head  turned  away,  took  a  long  step  forward.  "  Ah,  lieu- 
tenant ! "  he  exclaimed  with  a  sob,  and  fled. 

The  other  left  alone,  looked  around,  remained  for  a  short 
time  gazing  at  the  door,  then  placed  his  elbows  on  the  little 
table,  rested  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  tears  formed  in  the 
corners  of  his  eyes;  shone  there  for  a  moment,  and  then 
slipped  quickly  down  his  cheeks  as  if  afraid  of  being  seen. 
He  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  looked  at  his  cigar  ;  it  had 
gone  out ;  ah,  this  time  they  were  real  tears  ;  he  buried  his 
face  on  one  arm  and  let  them  flow,  for  he  felt  the  need  of 
them. 


THE  OFFICER  OF  THE  GUARD. 


AFTER  having  had  the  tattoo  beaten,  the  officer  of  the  guard 
gave  a  glance  at  the  court  of  the  quarters  ;  there  was  no  one 
there  ;  he  went  to  the  staircase  leading  to  the  dormitories, — no 
one  ;  raised  his  eyes  to  the  balconies  ;  no  one  there  ;  a  look  at 
the  door;  closed;  a  peep  into  the  guard-room;  all  correct  there; 
the  lights  on  the  landings  and  corridors  were  all  right  ;  every 
thing  was  in  order  ;  all  was  quiet,  and  the  regiment  asleep. 
What  was  left  for  the  officer  of  the  guard  to  do  ?  Nothing 
but  to  sleep  ;  and  this  he  thought  he  would  do.  He  glanced 
around  once  more,  above  and  below,  approached  the  cellar  door, 
tried  it  with  his  hand  ;  it  was  shut ;  he  listened  attentively  ; 
not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard.  "  Now  I  can  go  to  sleep,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  moved  off  toward  his  room.  He  whis- 
pered a  few  words  in  the  ear  of  the  sergeant  of  the  guard  : 
"  You  understand,  eh  ? "  and  having  received  in  reply  a  re- 
spectful :  "  Trust  me  !  "  accompanied  by  the  placing  of  the 
hand  on  his  breast  as  an  assurance  of  good  faith,  he  entered, 
closed  his  door,  took  off  his  cap,  sword,  sash,  approached  the 
bed,  arranged  the  sheet,  carried  his  right  hand  to  the  first  but- 
ton of  his  jacket  .  .  .  "  Bah,  and  the  round  ?  "  he  thought, 
making  a  slight  motion  of  the  head  as  if  putting  the  question 
to  some  one  else.  Then  taking  the  light  in  an  impatient  way, 

he  went  and  planted  himself  as  straight  as  a  pole  in  front  of 

20 


THE   OFFICER   OF   THE    GUARD.  21 

the  orders  for  the  day,  fastened  to  the  wall  under  the  portrait 
of  the  king.  He  placed  his  forefinger  at  the  bottom  of  the  sheet 
and  began  to  run  it  along  under  the  lines,  reading  rapidly  and 
masticating  the  words  in  an  angry  and  inarticulate  way,  until 
he  suddenly  stopped  and  pronounced  in  a  distinct  voice  : 
" '  Round  in  the  interior  of  the  quarters  at  eleven  o'clock' — Sacre 
.  .  .  I  "  he  added,  turning  instantly  toward  the  bed  and  setting 
down  the  candlestick  with  a  bang  on  the  little  table,  "  I  was 
sure  of  it ! "  And  he  stood  there  erect  and  immovable,  with 
his  eyes  fastened  on  the  pillow  and  his  hands  in  the  act  of  un- 
buttoning his  jacket. 

"  The  round  !  the  round  !  "  he  began  again,  slipping  the 
buttons  one  by  one  from  the  button-holes  ;  "  after  having  been 
on  your  feet  all  day,  after  having  run  here  and  there,  up  and 
down  without  a  minute's  rest,  and  being  breathless  from  shout- 
ing from  morning  till  night,  finally  the  hour  comes  when  you 
ought  to  rest  your  poor  bones  in  bed,  and  enjoy  a  moment's 
peace  ;  but,  no,  sir !  there  's  the  round,  the  round  at  eleven 
o'clock.  You  ought  to  take  your  good  lantern  in  hand  and  go 
around  again,  poking  and  screaming  about  to  see  if  they  are  all 
in  bed,  that  no  one  has  slipped  out  of  the  window,  and  so  on, 
as  long  as  necessary.  Finally  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  he  had  thrown  his  jacket  over  a  chair  near  the 
bed. 

"  Anyhow,  I  am  made  of  flesh  and  blood  like  the  rest,  and  I 
do  not  intend  killing  myself  in  the  service.  No,  not  much  ! 
Really  one  cannot  go  on  in  this  way,  it  's  out  of  the  question. 
Joking  aside,  there  really  is  n't  time  to  eat,  and  that  order  for 
the  day  proves  it  too.  There  is  nothing  easier  ..." 

And  the  trousers  had  gone  to  keep  company  with  the  jacket. 


22  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Nothing  easier  than  to  arrange  orders  for  the  day,  seated 
at  table  after  an  excellent  dinner,  with  a  seven  centime  cigar  in 
the  mouth  ;  nothing  easier.  The  discomfort  falls  to  the  lot  of 
the  poor  devils  who  have  to  keep  to  them.  It  is  always  low  down 
in  the  ranks  that  the  hard  work  falls.  Can't  a  poor  officer  of 
the  guard  have  time  to  digest  his  food  ?  Oh,  what  difference 
does  it  make  to  certain  fine  gentlemen  ?  Dig,  dig  ;  and  if  a 
mistake  is  made  the  punishment  follows. "  Well,  in  the 
end  ...  " 

And  the  rest  of  his  raiment  was  thrown  down  with  his  other 
garments. 

"  After  all,  who  is  likely  to  turn  up  here  at  ten  o'clock  ?  Who 
will  take  it  into  his  head  to  come  and  see  whether  I  am  going 
the  round  or  not  ?  Outside  it  's  bitterly  cold  ;  there  is  a  wind 
that  fairly  freezes  the  face  ;  then  a  road  in  which  you  could 
break  your  neck.  The  colonel  lives  at  the  end  of  the  town, 
and  then  he  is  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  surprises.  The 
major  .  .  Oh,  he  's  married,  and  there  is  no  danger  of  his 
making  his  appearance.  The  officer  of  the  day  is  at  this  hour 
taking  a  hand  at  Tarocchi?  and  he  certainly  won't  be  seized  by 
a  caprice  to  drag  himself  over  here.  Then,  if  he  did  come, — 
he  will  have 

Meantime  he  had  dashed  into  bed,  trembling  with  the  cold, 
and  nestling  and  rolling  himself  up  softly  under  the  comfort- 
ables, gave  a  little  smile  of  indolent  content. ' 

"  He  will  have  to  rap  in  order  to  be  admitted  ;  and  before 
the  corporal  of  the  guard  has  heard  him,  stirred,  found  the  key- 
hole, and  opened  the  door,  five  minutes  will  have  elapsed,  and 
I  '11  have  had  time  to  dress  myself  in  some  sort  of  fashion, 

-  A  sort  of  chequered  cards. 


THE   OFFICER    OF   THE    GUARD.  2$ 

fly  to  the  door,  open  it,  seize  the  lantern  in  the  guard-room, 
and  away  through  the  dormitories  to  play  my  part  .  .  . 

Here  he  blew  out  the  candle,  drew  the  counterpane  over  his 
head,  turned  on  to  his  side,  sought  a  comfortable  position,  and 
closed  his  eyes,  thinking  : — "  And  away  through  the  dormitories 
to  play  my  part." 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  luxury  to  dash  into  bed  after  working  all  day  ! 
What  a  profession  !  And  to  think  that  with  all  my  efforts  I 
can  never  satisfy  that  old  dotard  of  a  captain.  The  meat  is 
underdone  !  Whose  fault  is  it  ?  Mine.  The  stairs  are  dirty  ! 
Who  is  to  blame  for  it  ?  I ;  the  devil !  The  dormitories  are 
in  disorder  !  Who  gets  hauled  over  the  coals  for  it  ?  I,  I,  al- 
ways I.  No  one  but  me.  Whew  !  What  a  good  bed  !  And 
to  hear  certain  people  say  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  fill 
the  cafes  with  smoke  and  run  after  the  girls.  Let  them  try  for 
themselves,  now  that  the  whole  world  is  looking  on  with  ex- 
pectancy .  .  .  with  that  magnificent  pay  .  .  .  and 
the  taxes  .  .  . 

Little  by  little,  wandering  along  in  this  defence  of  himself, 
his  thoughts  and  ideas  grew  confused  ;  the  captain,  the  major, 
the  wife,  the  expectation,  the  taxes,  grew  into  a  curious  muddle, 
which  ended  finally  in  profound  slumber. 

But  he  had  not  fallen  asleep  without  a  little  anxiety  and  re- 
morse. Every  time  the  idea  of  the  round  came  to  his  mind  he 
felt  a  slight  twinge  of  conscience.  The  same  thing  happens  to 
the  truant  from  school  who  goes  off  to  make  snow-balls  with 
his  companions  ;  the  image  of  his  master  and  his  mother  assail 
him  from  time  to  time,  and  the  more  he  attempts  to  drive 
them  away  the  more  they  return  to  torment  and  bite  him  like 
a  fly. 


24  MILITARY  LIFE. 

He  dreamed.  One  after  the  other  the  ten  or  twelve  most 
wretched,  undisciplined  soldiers  in  the  whole  regiment,  who 
are  noted  for  the  nocturnal  escapades,  revelling  in  taverns,  and 
rascally  adventures,  which  always  end  successfully,  passed  be- 
fore his  mind  ;  some  noted  for  getting  off  scot-free  ;  others 
famous,  on  the  other  hand,  for  assignments,  imprisonment,  and 
so  forth,  to  number  eighteen  j  and  it  seemed  as  if  each  one 
in  passing  whispered  just  above  his  breath  :  "  Sleep,  sleep,  and 
I  '11  play  you  a  trick."  Then  these  melted  away,  and  all  the 
most  elegant  and  bedecked  subalterns  of  the  regiment,  with 
cigar  in  mouth  and  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  the  hand,  those  who 
carry  the  cap-band  under  the  lip,  wear  small  high-heeled  shoes, 
have  lady-loves  in  town,  and  when  they  can  escape  in  the 
moonlight  do  not  wait  for  a  second  inspiration,  seemed  to  pass 
before  him  murmuring  softly  :  "  Sleep,  sleep,  and  we  will  get 
the  better  of  you."  The  sergeant  of  the  guard,  who  a  short 
time  before  had  given  him  that  respectful  "  trust  to  me  !  "  that 
reassuring  sign,  now,  in  recollecting  it,  seemed  to  have  eyes 
gleaming  with  malice,  and  to  have  curled  his  lips  under  his 
moustache,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  Go  to  sleep,  do,  and  I  '11  play 
you  a  trick  !  " 

Then  came  something  else.  He  seemed  to  lie  in  the  middle 
of  a  road,  back  of  the  barracks,  and  to  be  looking  around  to 
see  if  the  sentinels  were  awake  and  at  their  posts.  They  were 
all  there.  In  fact,  he  discovered  one  not  unknown  to  him, 
a  soldier  belonging  to  his  company,  the  roundest,  laziest 
conscript  of  all,  and,  to  make  matters  worse,  short-sighted  and 
deaf.  "  Just  see,"  he  thought,  "  does  n't  it  look  as  if  they  had 
put  that  stupid  there  just  out  of  disrespect  to  me  ?  He  is  not 
good  for  any  thing  !  "  And  he  watched  him.  The  sentinel 


THE   OFFICER   OF   THE   GUARD.  25 

stretched  his  neck  outside  his  box,  looked  to  the  right  and  left 
to  see  if  any  one  were  coming,  placed  his  musket  in  a  corner, 
wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak,  sat  down,  put  his  head  on  his 
knees,  and  went  to  sleep.  The  poor  dreamer  grew  enraged  at 
the  rascal,  seized  him  by  the  shoulder,  shook  him,  and  opened 
his  mouth  to  utter  some  imprecation. 

At  that  point  he  thought  he  heard  a  slight  noise  above  his 
head  ;  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  windows.  From  one  of  the 
sills  there  projects  and  moves  with  uncertainty  something  black, 
which  stretches  out,  descends  very  slowly,  and  reaches  the 
ground  ;  it  is  a  rope.  After  having  followed  it  with  his  eyes  to 
the  ground,  he  raises  them  to  the  window,  sees  a  head  project, 
two  shoulders,  and  an  entire  body  turn  warily  around,  seize  the 
rope,  descend,  and  disappear.  He  instantly  dashes  after  him, 
is  close  to  him,  comes  up  with  him,  stretches  out  his  hand  to 
catch  hold  of  him  by  his  clothes  .  .  . 

At  that  moment  he  seems  to  be  before  a  door, — the  door 
of  the  cellar.  He  tries  it  lightly  with  his  hand ;  it  gives. 
Whew  !  What  an  uproar  !  Clattering  of  dishes,  a  clinking  of 
glasses,  a  shouting  of  hoarse  and  discordant  voices,  a  confused 
sound  of  oaths  and  songs,  and  an  odor  of  pipes  that  drives  one 
backward.  He  stopped  an  instant,  pushed  the  door  again, 
and  threw  it  wide  open.  What  a  spectacle  !  The  room  was 
crowded  with  soldiers,  some  dressed,  some  in  doublets,  some 
with  the  cape  over  the  shoulders  like  a  Spanish  mantle,  and 
the  cap  thrown  back,  bravado  fashion  ;  others  seated  on  the 
tables,  some  astride,  others  on  their  faces,  some  stretched  in- 
decently on  the  floor,  their  eyes  shining  glassy  and  stupefied, 
their  faces  heated  ;  others  tipsy,  others  still  more  intoxicated  ; 
some  dozing,  the  rest  sleeping  soundly.  A  few  tried  to  rise 


26  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

to  their  feet  and  fell  back  heavily  on  to  their  seats  ;  some,  who 
had, succeeded  in  getting  up,  staggered  shouting  around  the 
room  and  making  the  tables  shake  and  the  bottles  and  glasses 
tremble.  On  every  side  there  were  piles  of  cards  and  money, 
and  a  cutting  of  the  air  with  hands  in  cabalistic  signs,  shouts, 
laughter,  and  every  thing  was  enveloped  in  a  dense  cloud  of 
smoke,  enough  to  suffocate  one  in  ten  minutes.  "  Out  of  this  ! 
out  of  this  !  "  the  poor  dreamer  seemed  to  shout ;  "  sergeant, 
sergeant,  take  all  their  names,  put  them  all  in  the  guard-house, 
in  irons,  all  .  .  ." 

Now  he  seemed  to  hear  behind  him  a  creaking  like  a  large 
door  moving  slowly  on  its  hinges  ;  he  turned,  looked  around, 
and  discovered  that  he  was  in  the  hall,  near  the  door  of  the 
quarters.  A  black  shadow  advanced  suspiciously  close  to 
the  wall,  like  the  figure  of  a  perambulating  bass-relief j  it 
moved  two  steps,  paused,  gazed  about,  began  moving  on 
again,  stopped  once  more,  as  if  it  were  afraid ;  reached  the 
door,  laughed,  dragged  its  feet,  and  behold  !  on  the  sill  of  the 
guard-room  door  another  figure  like  the  first,  cautious  and  quiet 
as  possible.  They  exchanged  a  few  words  in  an  undertone, 
the  door  opened,  and  one  of  them  slowly  disappeared.  "  Ah, 
I  recognized  him  !"  thought  the  dreamer;  "he  is  the  sergeant 
of  the  eighth."  And  he  turned  and  saw  another,  behind  this 
one  a  third,  then  a  fourth,  the  sergeant  of  the  fifth,  the  com- 
missary of  the  sixth,  the  commissary  of  the  third.  "Ah, 
traitors  ! "  he  dreams  that  he  cries,  "  to  the  hall  all  of  you  ! 
to  the  hall  all  of  you  !  sergeant  of  the  guard  !  sergeant  .  .  -." 

At  this  moment  he  seemed  to  strike  his  hand  against  some- 
thing soft  and  woolly.  He  turns,  it  is  a  bed.  Behind  this 
another,  then  another,  another  still, — a  long  row  of  beds.  He 


THE   OFFICER   OF   THE   GUARD.  2? 

looks  around  and  discovers  that  he  is  in  a  dormitory,  a  little 
light  at  the  end  of  the  room  dimly  illumines  all  the  objects 
therein  ;  all  are  silent,  one  could  hear  a  fly  stirring.  Suddenly 
one  of  the  sleepers  begins  to  snore,  lightly  at  first,  then  more 
heavily,  finally  so  as  to  be  heard  in  the  street.  Some  one 
wakes.  A  man  near  by  stretches  his  arms,  yawns,  rubs  his  eyes, 
and  exclaims  :  "  Oh,  there,  could  n't  you  sleep  a  little  more  like  a 
Christian  ?  "  No  change,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  understood. 
"  Do  you  understand  ?  You  are  to  sleep  more  like  a  Christian," 
the  man  shouts  louder  still.  It  had  no  effect,  one  might  as  well 
talk  to  a  stone  wall.  "Body  of  a  bomb  shell !  "  cries  the  infuri- 
ated man  springing  out  of  bed.  "  I  '11  fix  you  now  !  "  He  ap- 
proaches, seizes  him  by  both  his  arms,  gives  him  such  a  vigorous 
shake  that  he  makes  his  bed  and  all  those  around  about  trem- 
ble. The  snorer  stirs,  wakes,  half  sees  and  understands,  gives  a 
kick  to  the  counterpane,  a  shout,  a  spring,  is  on  his  feet  in  a 
moment  with  a  pillow  in  his  hand,  and  down  it  comes  on  the 
neck  of  the  'unfortunate  aggressor  with  a  blinding  blow.  The 
latter  gives  as  good  as  he  takes  ;  the  first  one  pursues  him,  a 
third  rushes  to  the  assistance  of  the  weaker ;  a  fourth  to  the 
defense  of  the  first,  a  regular  scuffle  ensues,  all  dash  from  their 
beds,  the  uproar  increases  ;  the  light  goes  out ;  the  men  get 
mixed  up  ;  a  window  pane  is  broken,  another  too,  the  knap- 
sacks come  down  from  the  shelves,  the  sheets  from  the  beds, 
the  muskets  from  the  racks.  .  .  .  The  poor  dreamer  dazed, 
trembling,  hardened  by  rage,  is  just  about  to  give  a  loud  shout 
that  will  be  heard  above  that  infernal  racket,  and  bends  him- 
self in  order  to  dash  into  the  thick  of  the  fight.  .  .  . 

At  that  point  he  heard  some  one  knocking  vigorously  at  the 
door,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice  called  his  name.     Trembling, 


28  MILH^ARY  LIFE. 

terrified,  bathed  with  perspiration,  he  rose  wearily  to  a  sitting 
posture,  listened  attentively,  and  held  his  breath.  "  Lieuten- 
ant !  lieutenant  !  the  officer  of  the  day,"  said  the  voice  again. 

"  Heavens  !  quick,  my  stockings,  my  stockings  ;  where 
are  those  stockings  ?  Well,  no  matter.  My  trowsers  .  .  . 
where  are  they  ?  Ah,  here  they  are  !  .  .  .  Quick,  my  jacket ! 
one  arm,  the  other  .  .  .  the  jacket  is  on.  My  sword  !  where 
in  heaven's  name  is  my  sword  ?  The  scarf,  now,  the  scarf  ! 
.  .  .  Ah,  here  it  is !  At  last.  .  ." 

And  dressed  thus  carelessly,  his  jacket  unbuttoned,  without 
stockings,  cravat,  or  drawers,  he  rushed  breathless  to  the  door, 
opened  it,  looked  around,  and  saw  .  .  .  the  officer  of  the  day, 
erect,  immovable,  and  rigid,  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his 
breast,  and  the  visor  of  his  cap  over  his  eyes,  and  his  eyes 
flashing  under  his  knitted  brows  like  two  burning  coals. 

"  Have  you  gone  the  rounds  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  lieutenant  hesitates,  then  says  boldly,  "  I 
have  done  them." 

"  I  understand,"  mutters  the  captain  to  himself,  "  you  have 
done  me." 

Now  I  ask  you  :  is  it  worse  to  have  a  dream  of  this  kind,  or 
to  catch  an  attack  of  pleurisy,  or  bark  your  shins  against 
some  bed  in  the  dark  ?  I  go  in  for  the  bruised  shins  and  in- 
fluenza, and  I  fancy  the  majority  of  my  readers  would  do  the 
same. 


"He  rushed  breathless  to  the  door,  opened  it,   looked  around,   and  saw— the 
officer  of  the  day,  erect,  immovable,  and  rigid." 

(Page  28.) 


J 


THE  WOUNDED  SENTINEL. 


IT  was  growing  dark.  The  streets  of  the  city  were  full  of 
people.  Those  shops  which  are  generally  open  during  the 
evening  were  in  great  part  closed,  and  the  remainder  were  be- 
ing shut  one  by  one.  Here  and  there,  at  the  corners,  on  the 
squares,  in  front  of  the  cafes,  on  the  steps  of  the  churches, 
were  groups  of  men  and  boys,  who  were  talking  in  low  and 
excited  voices,  turning  from  time  to  time  to  look  around  them 
in  order  to  see  that  no  suspicious  person  was  listening.  There 
was  a  continuous  descent  of  people  from  the  houses  to  the 
street  ;  they  stopped  a  moment  on  the  door-way,  looked  to  the 
right  and  left  as  if  uncertain  which  way  to  go,  and  then  mingled 
in  the  crowd.  In  the  whispering  of  the  crowd,  although  it  was 
much  denser  and  more  noisy  than  usual,  there  was  perceptible  a 
suppressed  and  almost  timid  tone.  Now  and  then  a  knot  of 
people  crossed  the  street  hurriedly,  and  behind  them  a  long 
train  of  gamins  who  made  way  for  themselves  between  the 
legs  of  the  people  with  their  elbows  and  shoulders,  whist- 
ling and  shrieking  as  they  did  so.  At  the  sound  of  any  voice 
which  made  itself  heard  above  the  general  murmur,  many 
stopped  and  turned  back  to  ask  what  was  the  matter.  It  was 
only  some  one  who  had  made  use  of  an  expression  a  little 
stronger  than  the  others — that  was  all.  After  the  people  had 
looked  at  him  a  moment  and  he  at  the  people,  every  one  went 

29 


3O  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

on  his  way.  A  moment  later  a  great  blow  was  heard  on  one 
side  of  the  street ;  every  one  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  Who  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  What 's  happened  ?  It  was 
a  shopkeeper  who  had  closed  and  barred  his  door.  The  car- 
riages passed  slowly,  and  the  coachmen  begged  the  crowd  to 
make  way,  with  an  unusually  polite  smile,  and  a  motion  of  the 
whip  that  was  excessively  courteous.  On  the  corners,  by  the 
light  of  the  lamps,  were  seen  those  poor  newspaper  venders 
assailed  by  ten  people  at  a  time,  who,  holding  out  the  sou 
with  one  hand,  seized  the  desired  sheet  with  the  other,  drew 
to  one  side,  then  unfolded  it  in  haste,  and  searched  with  avid- 
ity for  some  important  news.  Some  of  the  passers-by  stopped, 
formed  a  circle  around  the  possessor  of  the  journal,  and 
the  latter  read  in  a  low  voice  while  the  others  listened  at- 
tentively. 

Suddenly  all  the  people  are  seen  running  toward  the  end  of  a 
street ;  there  is  instantly  a  great  press,  a  loud  shout,  a  tremen- 
dous confusion  ;  above  the  heads  can  be  seen  four  or  five 
muskets  knocked  here  and  there  ;  a  clapping  of  hands  is  heard  ; 
the  crowd  vacillates,  falls  back,  opens  on  one  side  ;  four  or  five 
dark  figures  appear  with  muskets  in  their  hands,  give  a  glance 
about  them  with  an  air  of  triumph,  turn  into  an  alley,  and  off 
they  dash  ;  a  troop  of  boys,  howling  and  whistling,  follow  them. 
What  was  it  ?  What  's  happened  ?  Nothing,  nothing.  A 
patrol  of  the  national  guard  has  been  disarmed.  A  moment 
later,  the  crowd  opens  on  another  side  and  four  or  five  unfort- 
unate fellows  appear,  with  pale  faces,  bare  heads,  dishevelled 
hair,  and  clothes  torn  and  disordered.  Round  about  them 
there  rises  a  murmur  of  compassion  ;  some  sympathetic  per- 
son takes  them  by  the  arm,  leads  them  out  of  the  throng, 


THE    WOUNDED    SENTINEL.  31 

and  accompanies  them  home,  exhorting  them  by  word  and 
gesture  to  be  courageous. 

Meanwhile  confusion,  great  excitement,  and  deafening  noises 
have  sprung  up  in  the  multitude.  "  Give  way  there  !  Make 
way  there  ! "  is  suddenly  shouted  on  one  side  of  the  street. 
All  turn  in  that  direction.  Who  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ?  What 's 
happened  ?  "  Make  way  there  !  Make  way  there  !  "  The 
crowd  divides,  falls  back  rapidly,  forms  a  hedge  on  the  sides 
of  the  street,  and  a  company  of  sharpshooters  traverse  it  on  a 
run.  A  dirty,  noisy  troop  of  gamins  follow  them.  The  crowd 
closes  up  again. 

Suddenly  a  confused  sound  of  angry  menacing  voices  breaks 
out  on  another  side  ;  the  crowd  gathers  and  forms  at  this 
point ;  above  the  heads  two  or  three  carabineers'  hats  ap- 
pear and  disappear,  then  a  burst  of  applause,  the  crowd 
opens,  a  man  breathless  and  disfigured  runs  out  and  disap- 
pears. "  They  wanted  to  put  handcuffs  on  him,"  some  one 
remarks  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction,  "  but  they  did  not  succeed 
in  doing  so ;  there  were  some  strong  people  who  took  his 
part.  We  should  like  to  see  them  !  " 

The  crowd  proceeds  slowly  in  one  direction,  and  reaches 
the  corner  of  a  street.  Suddenly  the  people  in  front  stop  and 
those  behind  press  on  to  them  ;  the  former  recede  a  few  steps, 
the  latter  are  violently  forced  back,  then  begin  to  push  forward 
again,  and  then  recede  once  more  ;  all  of  which  gives  rise 
to  indescribable  disorder.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  Who  is 
preventing  our  going  on?  Forward,  forward!  "  "Oh,  yes,  it 
is  very  fine  to  say  forward  !  There  is  a  company  of  soldiers 
with  bayonets  fixed  who  are  barring  the  passage."  Then  fol- 
low shouts,  hisses,  oaths,  and  imprecations.  "  Down  with  the 


32  MILITARY  LIFE. 

oppressors !  We  don't  want  oppression,  down  with  those 
muskets,  give  us  a  free  passage — out  of  the  way  ! '.'  All  at  once 
the  crowd  turn  their  backs  on  the  soldiers  and  take  flight, 
leaving  the  pavement  strewn  with  the  fallen  and  invade  in 
less  than  a  moment  the  side  streets,  cafe's,  vestibules,  and 
courts  of  the  neighboring  houses.  The  soldiers  have  lowered 
their  bayonets. 

"  Make  way  there  !  Make  way  there !  "  they  shriek,  on 
one  side.  From  one  of  the  side  alleys  comes  the  sound  of 
horses'  tramp  and  the  clinking  of  swords  ;  it  is  a  squad  of  cav- 
alry that  is  advancing  ;  the  gleam  of  the  first  helmets  is  seen  ;  a 
troop  of  horses  break  through  the  crowd,  which  spring  to  the 
right  and  left  against  the  walls  of  the  houses  ;  the  squad 
passes  in  the  midst  of  profound  silence  ;  when  it  is  almost  by, 
a  voice  or  a  hiss  is  heard  here  and  there  ;  it  has  passed — then 
follow  shouts,  whistles,  reproaches,  and  a  shower  of  cabbage- 
heads  and  lemon-peel  on  to  the  last  horses.  The  squad  stops, 
the  last  horses  back  a  few  paces,  the  crowd  turns  and  clears 
the  street  for  a  hundred  steps. 

In  the  nearest  group  is  heard  from  time  to  time  a  furious 
outburst  of  oaths,  a  beating  of  sticks,  a  sharp  cry,  a  feeble 
moan,  and  then  a  long  whisper  followed  by  a  timid  silence. 
"  What  has  happened  ?  What  was  it  ?  Nothing,  nothing  ; 
they  have  driven  a  few  inches  of  steel  into  the  back  of  a  pub- 
lic guard."  The  crowds  draw  back  on  the  right  and  left,  and 
a  carabineer,  with  bare  head  and  both  hands  buried  in  his 
hair,  crosses  the  street  tottering  and  staggering  like  a  drunken 
man.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  have  they  done  ?  "  "  They 
have  given  him  a  blow  on  the  head."  "  To  the  square  !  To 
the  square !  "  suddenly  shouts  a  powerful  voice.  "  To  the 


THE    WOUNDED    SENTINEL.  33 

square  !  "  comes  the  unanimous  response  from  all  sides.  And 
the  multitude  burst  tumultuously  into  the  nearest  street  and 
start  toward  the  square. 

All  this  occurred  not  many  years  since  in  one  of  the  princi- 
pal cities  of  Italy,  while  in  a  neighboring  street  in  the  midst  of 
the  tumult  a  band  of  eight  soldiers  passed  with  a  corporal  and 
sergeant,  to  relieve  another  body  standing  guard  at  a  public 
building  in  a  little  square  near  by.  The  squad  moved  slowly, 
and  the  soldiers  looked  curiously  on  this  side  and  that.  Just 
in  this  street  the  excitement  seemed  greatest  and  the  conduct 
of  the  people  most  resolute. 

The  patrol  passed  near  a  large  group  of  those  people  who 
are  only  seen  on  certain  evenings,  and  who  with  surly  and 
heated  faces  hold  forth  loudly  in  the  midst  of  roughs,  around 
whom  there  is  always  a  group  of  gamins.  One  of  the  group 
sees  the  patrol,  turns,  and  pointing  his  finger  at  the  soldiers, 
exclaims,  sotto  voce :  "  Look  at  them  !  "  The  whole  circle 
turns  in  that  direction,  and  one  after  the  other,  gradually 
raising  his  voice,  begins  to  say  :  "  Yes,  look  at  the  men  who 
never  fail  to  come  out  when  the  people  wish  to  make  their 
rights  felt.  They  reason  with  the  butt-end  of  their  muskets  ; 
the  bayonets  are  made  to  drive  holes  in  the  bodies  of  those  who 
are  hungry.  They  don't  lack  bread,  you  understand,  but 
others  starve  ;  what  does  it  matter  to  them  ?  Powder  and 
lead  for  those  who  are  hungry  !  " 

The  soldiers  went  on  without  turning  back.  The  group 
moved  forward,  and,  preceded  by  an  advance  guard  of 
gamins,  followed  them.  In  a  moment  they  caught  up 
with  them  and  accompanied  them  for  a  few  paces.  The 
soldiers  continued  to  march  without  turning  their  heads. 


34  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

One  of  the  group  begins  to  cough ;  another  sneezes ;  a 
third  coughs  harder  ;  a  fourth  makes  ready  to  expectorate, 
and,  turning  toward  the  band,  spits  with  a  rattling  sound, 
which  ends  in  a  burst  of  incontrollable  laughter ;  all  the 
others  clap  their  hands.  The  small  boys  whistle,  scream,  and, 
instigated  by  the  larger  ones,  slowly  approach  the  soldiers. 
The  latter  continue  to  march  without  giving  any  sign  of  hav- 
ing noticed  any  thing.  The  former  approach  nearer  and  walk 
beside  the  soldiers,  looking  them  in  the  face  with  an  expres- 
sion intended  to  say  :  "  I  defy  you."  One  of  them  begins  to 
imitate  quite  grotesquely  their  regular  step,  crying  in  a  nasal 
tone,  as  he  does  :  "  One,  two  !  one,  two  ! "  Another  mimics 
the  gait  of  the  soldiers  bent  and  limping  under  the  weight  of 
the  knapsacks.  A  third,  urged  on  by  one  of  those  at  the  rear, 
seizes  the  hem  of  the  corporal's  cloak,  gives  a  tug,  and  runs  off. 
The  corporal  turns  and  raises  his  hand  as  if  to  give  him  a  box 
on  the  ear. 

"  Eh  !  eh  ! "  they  shout  all  around.  "  Now  we  '11  see. 
Give  a  blow  to  a  boy  !  Shame  !  The  time  of  the  Croats  has 
passed  !  You  must  try  other  methods  now  !  A  blow  to  a 
boy  !  Try  again  !  " 

One  of  the  soldiers,  on  hearing  these  words,  bites  his  finger, 
planting  his  teeth  well  in,  and  uttering  a  groan  of  rage.  At 
that  point  he  feels  his  canteen  struck  a  hard  blow  ;  the  blood 
rushes  to  his  head  ;  he  turns  and  gives  a  hit  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  gamins  who  had  struck  him,  throwing  him  back  several 
paces. 

"  Here  !  Here  !  "  breaks  out  menacingly  from  the  crowd. 
"  Here  are  the  ruffians  !  Worse  than  the  Croats  !  Worse  than 
the  bailiffs.  Now  we  '11  give  them  a  lesson  ;  we  '11  make  you  pay, 


THE    WOUNDED    SENTINEL.  35 

you  dog  !  Oppressors  !  Worse  than  Croats  !  For  shame  to  beat 
an  unarmed  boy  !  " 

The  boys,  emboldened  by  the  anger  of  the  mob  and  the 
surety  of  impunity,  went  and  stuck  their  heads  between  the 
soldiers,  whispering  in  a  hoarse  and  aggravating  voice  :  "  Ugly 
soldier  !  Ugly  hangman  !  Traitorous,  bread-eater  !  Convict 
officer  !  Burst,  you  face  of  a  dog  !  " 

And  the  throng  all  around  :  "  Shame !  To  beat  an  unarmed 
boy  ! " 

"  You  cowards  ! "  said  the  poor  soldier  to  himself,  biting, 
meanwhile  his  lips  until  he  drew  blood.  "  Cowards  !  An  un- 
armed boy  !  Don't  you  know  that  there  are  words  which  kill  ? 
Hangman  !  Croat !  To  me  !  To  me  !  Oh  !  " — And  he  bit  his 
hand  again,  shaking  his  head  in  a  desperate  way. 

After  a  few  moments,  followed  always  by  the  people,  the  squad 
arrived  at  the  square  and  entered  the  guard-house,  which  was  a 
little,  low,  squalid  room,  lighted  by  one  lantern.  The  sentinel 
at  the  door  of  the  palace  was  instantly  changed  twenty  or 
thirty  feet  from  the  guard,  the  squad  who  had  been  there  first 
went  off,  and  those  newly  arrived  began  arranging  their  knap- 
sacks on  the  racks,  and  hanging  their  haversacks  and  canteens 
on  the  hooks. 

On  arriving  within  fifty  paces  of  the  guard-room,  the  people 
who  had  followed  the  squad  stopped,  and  from  there  began 
provoking  the  soldiers  by  words  and  deeds,  but  the  latter  paid 
no  attention  to  them.  Seeing  that  there  was  no  way  of  exciting 
a  riot,  they  were  on  the  point  of  moving  off,  when  one  of  them 
observed  that  the  soldier  in  the  sentinel-box  was  the  one  who 
a  short  time  before  had  given  the  boy  a  blow  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Is  it  really  he  ? "  "  Yes."  "  Really  ?  "  "  Yes,  I  tell  you  it  is  that 
rascal,"  "  You  wretch.  Now  we  '11  fix  you.  Just  wait !  " 


36  M1LITAR  Y  LIFE, 

And  they  all  moved  toward  the  sentinel.  AT  the  distance  of 
about  thirty  paces  they  stopped,  drew  up  in  line,  and  began  to 
look  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  their  eyes.  The  soldier  stood 
there,  near  his  box,  motionless  and  firmly,  with  his  head  erect  and 
his  eyes  fixed  on  those  provoking  faces  which  were  ranged  before 
him.  Suddenly,  out  of  the  group  steps  a  ragged  youth,  with  a  hat 
crushed  over  one  ear,  the  stump  of  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  moves 
forward  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  humming  in  a  mocking 
way,  and  comes  and  plants  himself  within  fifteen  paces  of  the 
sentinel,  looking  insolently  into  his  face,  crossing  his  arms  and 
assuming  an  attitude  of  defiant  impertinence. 

The  soldier  looked  at  him. 

Then  the  man  whirled  suddenly  on  his  heel,  turned  his  back, 
bursting  into  a  concerted  laugh  with  the  others,  who  stood 
watching  him  and  urging  him  on  by  signs. 

The  soldier  shook  his  head  two  or  three  times,  bit  his  lips, 
uttered  a  sigh,  tapping  the  ground  impatiently  with  his  foot  as 
if  to  say  :  "  Ah,  patience  !  patience  !  it  is  hard  to  bear  !  " 

The  rough  turned,  facing  the  soldier  once  more,  and, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  took  from  his  mouth  the  cigar 
stump  and  threw  it  at  his  feet,  retreating  eight  or  ten  paces  to 
place  himself  beyond  the  reach  of  a  sudden  assault. 

The  soldier  turned  pale,  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  clinched 
his  fists,  and  ground  his  teeth  ;  his  mind  was  growing  confused. 
"Why  do  you  do  this  to  me  ?  "  he  then  said  sadly  to  himself, 
turning  his  eyes  and  face  toward  those  people  as  if  he  were 
really  speaking  to  them.  "  What  have  you  against  me  ?  Have 
I  done  any  thing  to  you  ?  I  have  done  nothing.  Why  did  I 
give  that  boy  a  blow  ?  But  why  did  he  come  and  insult  me  ? 
Who  had  provoked  him  ?  Who  was  annoying  you  ?  What  do 


THE  WOUNDED  SENTINEL.  37 

you  wish  of  me  ?  I  have  offended  no  one,  I  do  not  know  you 
even  ;  I  am  a  poor  soldier  and  am  doing  my  duty,  and  stand 
here  because  I  am  ordered  to  do  so.  Yes,  ridicule  and  hiss 
at  me,  you  do  yourselves  honor  to  treat  your  soldiers  in  such  a 
way  .  .  .  just  as  if  they  were  brigands  !  " 

At  that  point,  a  stump  of  cabbage  thrown  with  great  force 
grazed  the  ground,  and  bouncing  and  whistling  fell  at  his  feet. 
"  God  !  God  !  "  he  murmured  in  a  desperate  tone  of  voice, 
covering  his  face  with  one  hand  and  resting  his  forehead  on 
the  other  which  was  leaning  on  the  mouth  of  his  gun.  "  I 
shall  lose  my  head  !  I  cannot  control  myself  much  longer. 
The  blood  is  rushing  to  my  head  !  .  .  ." 

"  But  it  is  quite  useless,"  he  added  a  moment  latter  in  a 
trembling  and  stifled  voice  ;  "  it  is  useless  to  make  us  wear 
these  "...  and  he  gave  a  hard  blow  on  the  two  medals  that 
he  wore  on  his  breast,  making  them  hit  each  other  and  resound  ; 
"  it  is  useless  for  them  to  give  us  medals  because  we  have 
fought  for  our  country,  if  afterward  they  are  to  throw  cigar 
stumps  and  cabbage  heads  in  our  faces  !  Oh,  you  wish  to 
make  me  abandon  my  post,  do  you  ?  You  wish  me  to  betray 
my  trust.  If  you  were  fifty,  or  even  a  hundred,  you  could  not 
force  me  to  move  from  here  ;  if  you  should  all  spring  upon 
me  at  once,  I  would  sooner  be  torn  to  pieces  like  a  dog. 
Come  on,  you  cowards !  Don't  insult  me  from  a  distance. 
Yes,  yes,  I  understand,  it  is  useless  for  you  to  make  signs  at 
me  ;  I  know  that  you  have  knives  in  your  pockets  ;  but  you 
won't  quite  dare  to  plant  them  in  my  stomach  in  broad  day- 
light. You  would  prefer  sticking  them  into  my  back  at  night 
.  .  .  when  .  .  ." 

Suddenly  he  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  let  his  musket  fall,  covered 


38  MILITARY  LIFE. 

his  face  with  his  hands,  tottered,  and  fell  at  the  foot  of  his 
sentry  box  :  a  stone  had  hit  him  on  the  forehead. 

All  the  soldiers  rushed  forward,  the  crowd  dispersed  and 
disappeared  ;  the  wounded  man  was  carried  into  the  guard- 
room with  his  face  and  chest  bleeding  ;  the  wound  was  instantly 
washed,  his  head  bound  up,  he  was  given  something  to  drink, 
and  a  bed  was  prepared  for  him  on  the  table  with  the  camp 
blankets  of  the  other  soldiers.  While  they  were  all  gathering 
around  him,  and  overwhelming  him  with  questions  and  words 
of  comfort,  and  the  sergeant  was  scolding  him  for  not  having 
asked  assistance  at  the  first  insult  of  those  people,  an  officer 
suddenly  entered,  and  behind  him  the  first  file  of  a  squad  of 
soldiers.  At  the  same  moment,  plunged  forward  by  a  vigorous 
push,  there  dashed  into  the  middle  of  the  room  a  man  with 
distorted  face,  hair  hanging  over  his  -forehead,  and  clothes  in 
rags.  He  had  been  arrested  on  that  same  little  square  by  the 
soldiers  of  a  squad  who  were  passing,  and  to  whom  he  had 
offered  a  violent  resistance. 

At  the  first  appearance  of  the  prisoner  the  wounded  soldier 
sprang  up  from  the  table,  made  a  dash  at  him,  placed  himself 
face  to  face  with  him,  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  flashing  eyes, 
uttered  a  cry,  which  came  broken  and  hoarse  from  between  his 
clinched  teeth,  took  a  step  backward,  and  resting  proudly  on 
his  right  foot,  and  raising  his  left  hand,  with  the  first  finger 
pointing  to  the  face  of  the  man,  who  was  watching  him  with  fear  : 
"  Ah,  you  are  the  one  !  he  shrieked  in  a  tone  that  froze  one's 
blood  ;  "  I  recognize  you  !  You  called  me  hangman  in  the 
street  and  have  broken  my  head  with  a  stone  on  the  square  ; 
now  it 's  your  turn  !  "  Saying  which,  he  sprang  at  him,  seized 
him  by  the  collar  of  his  jacket  and  shirt,  pinned  him  with  one 


Saying  which,  he  sprang  at  him,  seized  him  by  the  collar  of  his  jacket  and 
shirt,  pinned  him  with  one  dash  against  the  wall,  raised  his 
clenched  and  trembling  fist,"  etc. 

(Page  38.) 


THE  WOUNDED  SENTINEL.  39 

dash  against  the  wall,  raised  his  clinched  and  trembling  fist, 
and  aimed  at  his  head  with  angry,  bloodshot  eyes. 
All  this  took  place  in  an  instant,  those  present  interfered,  sepa- 
rated them,  held  the  wounded  man  by  the  arm,  a  corporal  sup- 
ported the  other  who  was  ready  to  drop,  and  both  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  panting  and  gasping  ; 
the  one  white  from  fear,  his  arms  hanging  and  his  head  bowed  ; 
the  other  with  his  face  flaming  and  haughty,  his  fists  clinched, 
and  his  whole  body  shaken  by  a  violent  tremor.  Meanwhile  a 
crowd  of  inquisitive  people  had  gathered  before  the  guard-room 
door. 

The  officer  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  asked  the 
sergeant  the  cause  of  the  trouble.  The  latter  related  all  that  he 
knew.  The  officer  then  turned  toward  the  prisoner,  who  held 
his  chin  down  on  his  chest,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  profound 
silence,  said  in  an  extraordinarily  quiet  tone  : 

"  I  can  understand  that,  from  a  barricade,  a  man  may  cast 
things  at  a  battalion,  with  some  end  or  aim  in  view,  but  this 
useless  and  stupid  insult  to  an  inoffensive  soldier,  who  has 
neither  the  responsibility  or  right  to  defend  himself,  is  one  of 
the  most  disgusting  pieces  of  cowardice  that  can  stain  a 
citizen." 

A  murmur  of  approbation  was  heard  among  the  crowd  at 
the  door. 

"Take  that  man  away  !  "  added  the  officer,  lighting  the  end 
of  a  cigar  in  the  flame  of  the  lantern. 

"  And  you,"  he  said,  turning  toward  the  wounded  soldier, 
while  the  patrol  lead  the  prisoner  off,  "  forgive  .  .  .  and 
forget." 

The  soldier  gave  a  nod  in  the  affirmative. 


4O  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

"  And  keep  up  your  spirits,"  concluded  the  officer,  putting 
the  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

"As  for  me,"  .  .  .  replied  the  soldier,  closing  his  teeth 
on  the  cigar  and  taking  it  between  his  forefinger  and  thumb, 
"  I  am  always  in  good  spirits  ;  but  you  must  understand,  lieu- 
tenant, that  these  are  things  that  try  one." 

So  the  drama  ended  with  a  laugh. 


THE  MOTHER. 


WHEN  the  winter  sinks  gradually  into  spring,  on  the  evenings 
of  those  clear,  quiet  days  without  any  wind,  in  which  we  keep 
the  doors  and  windows  open  for  the  first  time,  stretch  out  of 
the  window  sill  summer  clothing,  and  carry  the  flower-pots 
on  to  the  terraces  ;  on  those  beautiful  clear,  starry  nights,  even  the 
cities  (not  alone  that  everlasting  country  of  the  poets)  offer  a 
lovely  spectacle  full  of  gaiety  and  poetry.  In  walking  through 
the  streets  we  feel  from  time  to  time  a  soft,  fragrant  breath, 
from  what  ?  what  flowers  or  grass  ?  who  knows  ?  they  are  perfumes 
quite  vague  and  unknown,  filled  with  the  freshness  of  youth  and 
life.  We  inhale  the  air  with  delight,  opening  wide  our  mouths 
and  dilating  our  nostrils,  and  it  seems  to  refresh  body  and  soul. 
"  Oh,  what  a  fine  air  !  "  we  exclaim  from  time  to  time,  as  almost 
involuntarily,  almost  without  being  aware  of  it,  from  corner  to 
corner,  street  to  street,  on  we  go  until  we  find  ourselves  outside 
the  walls,  on  the  boulevards  surrounding  the  city,  in  the  gar- 
dens, and  we  bare  and  raise  our  heads  in  order  to  feel  that 
soft  air  blowing  over  our  faces  and  playing  with  our  hair. 

On  these  evenings  it  is  impossible  to  stay  at  home,  or  if  one 
is  obliged  to  do  so,  they  will  be  spent  in  leaning  out  of  the  win- 
dow, looking  down  into  the  unusual  crowd,  and  feeling  annoyed 
that  it  is  impossible  to  mingle  with  the  people  below  ;  for  to  go 
to  bed  betimes,  and  not  enjoy  even  from  the  window  so  beauti- 
ful an  evening,  would  seem  a  shame. 


42  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

In  the  principal  streets  there  is  a  regular  hive.  The  houses 
are  quite  empty.  The  large  families,  even  the  most  domestic, 
decide  to  creep  out  of  their  shell ;  the  "  papa  "  goes  to  the 
window,  looks  down  and  then  up  at  the  sky,  and  exclaims  : 
"  Fine  weather  !  "  then  turning  to  the  family,  who  are  behind 
him,  and  only  waiting  a  sign  from  him,  he  says  gaily  :  "  Let  us 
go  out  ";  so  after  much  shouting  and  running  about  hither  and 
yon  from  room  to  room,  clapping  their  hands  and  turning  the 
house  upside  down,  in  search  of  wraps  and  hats  in  the  dark, 
the  boys  are  ready,  and  the  troop  puts  itself  in  motion.  Even 
the  grandmamma,  poor  old  lady,  feels  several  years  slip  off 
from  her  shoulders,  and,  despite  her  habitual  complaints,  goes 
out  too,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  best-behaved  grandson.  The 
party  stretches  along  the  street,  two  by  two,  the  boys  in  front, 
jumping  and  singing  among  themselves,  and  knocking  with 
heads  and  hands  into  the  legs  of  the  passers-by.  The  old  peo- 
ple behind,  limping  and  coughing,  try  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  the  carriages  and  not  lose  sight  of  the  children.  The  newly 
married  pairs  and  the  betrothed  couples  wander  about  the 
quietest  streets  and  garden  paths  arm  in  arm,  their  heads  nearly 
touching,  their  fingers  giving  a  furtive  squeeze  now  and  then, 
close  together,  and  talking,  talking,  talking,  and  exchanging  fond 
glances  and  long  pressures  of  the  hand,  as  they  exclaim  from  time 
to  time,  their  eyes  turned  heavenward  :  "  How  beautiful  the 
moon  is  to-night  !  "  The  little  dressmaker  is  returning  home 
from  the  shop,  swinging  her  small  self  along,  close  by  the  walls, 
and  pretending  not  to  see  the  high  hat  which  is  keeping  pace 
with  her  behind,  and  will  appear  at  the  turning  of  a  certain 
dark  corner  in  such  a  pleasant  way.  The  poorest  girls,  who 
have  worked  at  home  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  come  dashing 


THE  MOTHER.  43 

down  the  stairs,  meet  at  the  door-way  their  neighbors  who  were 
waiting  for  them,  form  a  little  circle,  begin  a  vivacious  conversa- 
tion, and  grouping  their  heads  together,  like  flowers  in  a  bouquet, 
and  swinging  around  their  forefingers  the  ribbon  which  fastens 
the  scissors  to  their  belt,  reply  to  the  words  whispered  by  the 
young  fellows  who  pass  :  Charming  !  in  their  hearts,  and  with 
their  mouths  :  Impudence !  then  turn  their  backs  in  a  scornful 
manner,  not  so  fully,  however,  that  they  are  unable  to  measure 
them  from  head  to  foot  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes,  to  see 
who  they  are  and  what  they  are  like.  Others,  drawn  up  in 
fours  and  fives,  all  arm-in-arm,  bareheaded,  arrive  at  the  end 
of  the  street,  hitting  each  other  with  their  elbows  as  they  pass, 
whispering  in  their  ears,  laughing  aloud,  and  turning  now  and 
then  to  chide  with  a  maternal  air  the  younger  ones  who  are 
rambling  about.  Meanwhile  the  young  men  are  leaving  the 
factories  and  workshops  with  their  hats  pushed  down  over  their 
ears,  their  jackets  slung  carelessly  over  their  shoulder,  the 
stump  of  a  cigar  in  their  mouths  and  twisted  and  turned  in- 
differently between  their  black  lips.  They  come  down  the 
street  in  shoals,  moving  their  shoulders  in  a  rough  fashion,  shout- 
ing the  latest  stornello,  meet  the  girls,  approach  them,  hit  them 
with  their  elbows  and  knees,  puffing  a  mouthful  of  smoke  into 
their  faces  ;  and  the  latter  scatter  with  a  shriek,  coughing, 
and  passing  their  hands  over  their  tear-filled  eyes.  The 
gamins  loosen  the  theatre  placards  with  their  nails  and 
then  tear  them  down  from  the  walls  ;  the  small  children  play 
in  the  squares;  and  the  mothers,  standing  in  groups  at  the 
door-ways,  their  babies  in  their  arms,  delay  giving  the  usual 
cry:  "To  bed  !  "  thanks  to  the  softness  of  the  air  and  the 
clearness  of  the  sky.  Along  the  streets,  from  the  shops  on 


44  MILITARY  LIFE. 

either  side  of  the  way,  comes  the  continuous  sound  of  the 
closing  of  shutters,  the  loud  noise  of  the  bars,  and  a  slip- 
ping of  bolts  into  rings,  and  the  interchange  of  good-nights 
among  the  clerks  who  are  going  home.  The  finest  shops, 
gleaming  and  well-lighted,  remain  open  still,  their  door-ways 
filled  with  curious  people ;  as  do  the  book-stores,  with  their 
tobacco-smelling  literary  habitue's,  who  sport  long,  untidy 
locks  and  who  gather  in  a  corner  at  the  back  to  grumble  ovei 
old  politics  and  disinterred  parchments  ;  and  the  cafes  crowded 
with  customers  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  from  which) 
at  every  opening  of  the  door,  there  sweeps  into  the  street  in 
waves  a  deep,  full  clamor  of  voices. 

It  was  upon  such  an  evening  as  this  that  my  regimen*, 
which  had  arrived  that  morning  in  one  of  the  largest  cities  of 
Italy,  was  scatterred  through  the  streets  waiting  for  the  bar- 
racks we  were  to  occupy  to  be  emptied  and  for  the  retreat  to 
sound. 

The  soldiers  were  still  in  full  marching  equipment,  the  gait- 
ers buttoned  over  the  trousers,  the  cartridge-box  at  the  belt, 
the  flasks  and  knapsacks  on  the  shoulder-straps.  Weary  from 
the  march,  their  clothes  and  hair  white  with  dust,  they  stood 
still  in  groups  on  the  corners,  their  backs  against  the  walls, 
their  arms  crossed  on  the  breast,  one  leg  resting  over  the  other, 
or  motionless  before  the  jewellers'  establishments,  contemplat- 
ing, open-mouthed,  those  show-windows  filled  with  medals  and 
crosses  of  every  form  and  color,  at  which  old  employe's  and 
well-advanced  majors  cast  longing  glances  and  sighs  as  they 
pass.  Many  of  them  were  seated  in  the  hostelries  reviving 
themselves  with  a  swallow  of  wine  ;  others,  less  exhausted, 
wandered  through  the  streets.  All,  or  nearly  all,  however, 


THE  MOTHER.  45 

had  serious  faces,  were  silent,  or  talked  in  a  low  tone  with  an 
effort  ;  a  little  from  their  extreme  fatigue  and  sleepiness,  and  a 
,  little  from  that  confusion  one  generally  feels  in  finding  himself 
for  the  first  time  in  an  unknown  and  noisy  city. 

In  the  midst  of  the  grave  silence  reigning  in  a  small  group 
of  soldiers  who  were  seated  on  the  steps  of  a  church  near  the 
barracks,  was  all  the  more  noticeable  the  restless  gaiety  and  in- 
cessant chatter  of  one  of  them,  short  of  stature,  of  slender 
build,  with  beardless  face,  made  most  attractive  by  two  great 
blue  eyes,  who  continually  ran  up  and  down  the  steps,  jump- 
ing about  like  a  boy.  Now  he  would  stop  near  one,  now  beside 
another,  and  fill  their  ears  with  gossip.  Then  he  would  pull 
the  hem  of  this  one's  coat,  now  take  off  the  tassel  from 
another's  fatigue  cap  and  place  it  on  his  knee,  or  pass  his 
hands  over  the  eyes  of  a  third,  crying  out  as  he  did  so : 
"  Guess  who  it  is  !  "  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  made  of  quick- 
silver. In  passing  before  the  church  I  noticed  him ;  I 
stopped  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  and  stood  looking 
at  him  for  some  moments,  wondering  what  could  be  the 
reason  of  such  strange  gaiety.  The  frank  and  pleasing  face 
of  that  soldier  was  fixed  upon  my  mind.  I  moved  off. 

The  following  day  I  learned,  by  the  merest  chance,  what 
I  had  asked  myself  the  evening  before.  That  soldier  had  been 
four  years  in  the  service,  and  by  a  series  of  accidents  which  it 
is  not  necessary  to  relate,  from  the  day  of  his  departure  until 
that  time  he  had  never  been  able  to  obtain  leave,  not  even  for 
the  shortest  time,  in  order  to  return  home  and  see  his  family. 
Four  years  !  To  a  soldier,  as  I  knew  him  to  be,  full  of 
heart,  much  attached  to  his  relatives  and  the  place  where  he 
had  been  born  and  brought  up,  of  a  mild,  gentle  disposition, 


46  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

knowing  nothing  of  the  revels  which  dull  the  liveliest  affections 
and  clearest  memories  ;  to  a  soldier  like  this,  four  years  passed 
without  seeing  his  family  and  his  home  must  have  seemed 
long  indeed  !  And  so  they  had  been  ;  he  had  always  ap- 
peared a  little  melancholy  and  taciturn  in  the  barracks,  and 
always  alone  when  outside.  In  his  hours  of  freedom,  while  his 
comrades  lounged  around  in  the  public  gardens  to  bestow 
hairy  caresses  on  the  children  under  the  care  of  pretty  girls, 
he  used  to  pace  the  parade  ground  in  its  length  and  breadth, 
his  chin  resting  on  his  chest  ;  or  was  seated  on  a  stone  bench 
at  the  end  of  a  solitary  avenue,  drawing  puppets  in  the  sand  with 
the  end  of  his  foot.  He  was  always  thinking  of  his  relatives, 
friends,  and  the  places  that  he  had  not  seen  for  four  years,  and 
above  all  of  his  mother,  who  was  a  poor  old,  infirm  peasant,  but 
with  a  genial  and  true-loving  nature  and  the  heart  of  an  angel. 
Of  all  her  children,  the  one  whom  she  loved  with  the  greatest 
tenderness,  and  also  with  a  particular  feeling  of  solicitude  and 
pity,  was  the  soldier  son  ;  which  was  also  natural.  He  wrote,  or 
had  some  one  write  frequently  ;  and  his  letters,  read  and  re-read, 
kissed  and  re-kissed,  then  placed  in  her  bosom  like  the  relic  of 
a  saint,  mitigated  much  of  the  bitterness  of  their  separation. 
And  such  was  the  case  with  the  son  and  his  mother's  letters  ? 
Yes,  indeed.  Paper,  in  the  end,  is  paper,  and  loving  mothers 
wish  to  see  them  (their  children),  wish  to  have  them  under 
their  eyes,  to  touch  them  with  their  hands,  and  kiss  them  on 
the  forehead,  twice,  ten  times  in  one  breath  ;  and  the  children 
are  not  satisfied  with  the  knowledge  that  that  dear  head  with 
its  white  hair  is  at  home  and  thinks  of  them  ;  they  wish  to  take 
that  head  in  their  arms,  and  place  their  lips  on  those  white 
locks.  Yet  the  good  old  woman,  like  her  dear  soldier  boy  had 


THE   MOTHER.  47 

lived  through  those  four  years  a  life  of  continual  hope  and  de- 
luded expectations,  melancholy,  anxiety,  and  heart-beats.  The 
son,  who  left  a  little  district  in  northern  Italy,  had  been  taken, 
with  his  regiment,  to  Sicily,  and  detained  there  two  years  (in 
Sicily,  poor  woman,  with  all  that  water  between  them)  ;  from 
Sicily  he  had  passed  into  Calabria,  and  spent  a  year  there,  and 
then  a  year  in  central  Italy.  Finally,  one  fine  day,  the  rumor  of 
departure  spread  through  the  regiment.  "  Where  are  we  gq- 
ing  ? "  asked  our  soldier  of  the  sergeant  of  the  squad,  and  he 
waited  with  bated  breath  for  the  reply.  "  Into  northern  Italy," 
was  the  answer.  His  heart  gave  a  bound.  "Where?"  he 
asked  again,  growing  pale  ;  the  sergeant  named  the  city  ;  it  was 
the  one  nearest  his  home.  "  Ah  !  "  he  cried,  and  a  little  more  and 
he  would  have  kissed  the  sergeant  and  been  put  into  prison. 
That  same  night,  when  he  found  time  to  do  so,  he  wrote 
home. 

This  was  the  reason  of  his  gaiety  that  evening  ;  that  city  was 
within  a  few  miles  of  his  native  village. 

Now,  with  what  I  afterward  learned,  with  what  I  saw,  and 
with  what  I  could  not  help  imagining,  but  which  must  have 
taken  place,  I  will  tell  you  a  story  that  may  perhaps  rouse  in 
you  the  desire  to  kiss  your  own  mother  more  fervently. 

Two  days  had  elapsed  since  the  return.  Our  soldier  was 
still  talking  about  asking  a  few  days'  leave  in  order  to  fly  home, 
when,  one  fair  evening,  the  quarter-master  looks  him  up  in  the 
dormitory  of  the  company,  and  on  finding  him,  says,  while  hand- 
ing him  a  letter  :  "  Come  nearer."  He  had  hardly  taken  it 
before  its  seal  was  broken,  and  it  was  unfolded  in  the  light  of 
a  lantern  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  by  two  trembling  hands, 
and  under  two  dilated  eyes,  which  were  glistening  with  two  big 


48  MILITARY  LIFE. 

tears.  He  read  the  letter  very  rapidly,  accompanying  the 
movements  of  his  eyes  with  a  motion  of  his  head,  and  mutter- 
ing the  words  quite  hastily.  When  it  was  read  he  pressed  it  in 
his  hands,  and  let  his  arms  drop,  raising  his  great  eyes  to 
heaven  ;  and  the  two  drops,  after  trembling  uncertain  on  the 
lids,  fell,  ran  down  his  cheeks  without  breaking,  and  dropped 
quite  warm  upon  his  hands.  The  letter  was  from  his  mother, 
and  said  :  "  To-morrow  I  shall  come  to  town  on  foot.  It  is 
four  years  since  I  have  seen  you.  Oh,  my  son,  I  can  contain 
myself  no  longer,  and  I  must  throw  my  arms  around  your 
neck  !  " 

That  night  he  could  not  close  his  eyes.  He  dashed  about 
restlessly  under  the  counterpane,  and  found  no  peace  ;  and  there- 
fore nothing  but  twist  and  turn,  now  upon  one  side,  now  upon 
the  other,  now  on  his  back,  now  on  his  face  ;  always  quite  in 
vain,  for  the  coverlid  seemed  so  heavy,  and  he  felt  in  such  a 
feverish  state, — a  great  weight  on  his  chest,  a  restlessness,  a  de- 
sire for  motion,  and  a  tormenting  desire  for  fresh  air.  Every 
moment  he  seized  the  hem  of  the  coverlid  and  pushed  it  down 
to  his  knees,  sighing  and  gasping  as  if  he  had  been  in  front  of 
a  furnace.  From  time  to  time  he  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked 
around  at  his  comrades  who  were  all  sleeping  quietly  and 
soundly  as  one  is  accustomed  to  sleep  in  spring.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  bit  of  starry  sky,  which  appeared  through  the 
small  window  on  the  other  side,  and  thought :  "  Oh  if  I  were  in 
the  country  to  breathe  that  air  !  "  He  glanced  at  the  lantern 
placed  in  a  distant  corner,  which  gave  a  tremulous  light  that 
appeared  and  disappeared  in  turn,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
that  light  increased  his  anxiety  and  made  time  longer.  Then  he 
stretched  himself  out  in  bed  again,  and  began  thinking  of  the 


THE   MOTHER.  49 

morrow,  shutting  his  eyes  and  remaining  immovable  to  try  and 
fall  asleep  with  that  sweet  thought,  but  always  in  vain.  Still 
that  sweet  thought  did  not  bring  him  peace ;  his  body  was 
motionless,  his  eyes  closed,  but  his  heart  kept  on  beating  as 
if  to  say:  "You  shall  not  sleep;  you  shall  not  sleep!"  so 
that  after  a  short  time  he  was  obliged  to  open  his  eyes  and 
look  around  again.  So  many  long  hours  passed.  Finally 
weariness  conquered  ;  the  heart  was  silent,  and  the  busy 
fancy  still.  He  slept ;  dreamed  of  the  morrow  ;  dreamed  of  his 
mother.  He  seemed  to  see  her  there,  erect  and  smiling  beside 
his  pillow  ;  he  seemed  to  feel  her  pass  her  hand  over  his  brow, 
and  he  dreamed  that  he  seized  and  placed  his  lips  upon  it. 
Then,  suddenly,  he  felt  that  he  had  become  a  child  again,  at 
home  ;  and,  one  by  one,  there  came  to  his  mind  a  hundred  little 
scenes  from  his  early  life,  and  in  those  scenes  his  mother  was 
always  comforting  him  when  weeping,  or  defending  him  when 
threatened  by  his  father,  or  nursing  him  if  hurt  by  a  fall,  taking 
care  of  him  when  ill ;  and  always  full  of  pity  and  solicitude, 
always  loving,  always  the  mother  !  Then  he  dreamed  he  was 
grown  up  ;  recalled  the  day  of  his  departure  ;  his  mother's  tears, 
the  long  embraces,  words  of  farewell,  and  comfort  given  and 
received  ;  and  he  felt  his  heart-strings  tighten  just  as  they  did 
that  day ;  he  felt  around  his  waist  the  arms  of  his  mother  who 
would  not  let  him  go  ;  tried  to  free  himself,  could  not  do  so, 
uttered  a  groan,  and  awoke.  He  looked  around,  thought,  came 
to  himself,  and  that  was  a  moment  of  joy  which  can  be  better 
imagined  than  expressed. 

Down  in  the  court-yard  of  the  barracks  a  noisy  sound  of  drums 
broke  out.  All  dashed  from  their  beds.  He  dressed  in  haste, 
and  with  the  others  performed ,  all  the  duties  of  the  morning 


$0  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

cheerfully  and  with  a  calm  face,  but  with  a  burning  fever  and 
agitated  heart.  He  tapped  the  pavement  with  his  feet,  bit  his 
lips,  passed  and  repassed  his  hand  over  his  heated  brow,  asked 
all  around  what  the  hour  was,  looked  from  his  head  to  his 
feet  every  moment  to  see  if  he  was  neat  and  had  every  thing  in 
order.  Finally  the  desired  mid-day  arrived.  Desired,  because 
his  mother,  in  leaving  home  at  nine  o'clock  as  she  had  said  in 
her  letter,  ought  to  arrive  in  the  city  between  noon  and  one 
o'clock,  taking  into  account  the  distance  that  she  had  to  come 
and  the  slowness  with  which,  poor  woman,  she  could  accomplish 
it.  Just  at  that  hour  the  soldiers  had  to  leave  their  quarters  and 
go  to  the  single-stick  school.1  Our  good  young  fellow,  by  using 
his  mother's  letter,  obtained  a  release  from  that  exercise.  The 
soldiers  went  out,  the  dormitories  were  deserted,  he  ran  up  the 
stairs,  flew  to  his  bed,  placed  his  hand  upon  it,  stood  still  for  a 
moment,  for  he  felt  as  if  his  legs  refused  to  hold  him,  and 
panted. 

A  little  while  thereafter  he  seated  himself  on  the  bed  ; 
planted  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  rested  his  face  on  his  hands, 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor,  and  thought :  "  She  is  coming ;  she 
is  coming  here  to  the  barracks  !  "  And  laughing  hysterically 
he  rubbed  his  forehead  with  both  hands.  "  It  is  four  years 
since  I  have  seen  her  !  Four  years  !  "  Then  he  counted  four 
on  his  fingers.  "  How  long  they  have  been  !  "  And  then  he 
went  over  in  his  mind  all  his  fits  of  melancholy,  discouragement, 
and  past  sufferings.  "  Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  a  low  tone  full 
of  loving  pity,  clasping  his  hands,  shaking  his  head  gently,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  point  on  the  wall,  as  if  to  say  :  "  Poor 

1 A  species  of  fencing  with  sticks  instead  of  foils,  now  no  longer  in  vogue 
in  the  Italian  army. 


THE  MOTHER,  51 

mother ! '-'  and  "  Poor  mother  !  "  he  did  say  in  fact.  "  So  you 
are  coming  from  such  a  distance  to  see  me,  quite  alone  too  and 
on  foot ;  you  have  to  walk  so  many  miles  in  the  sun  ;  you  will 
arrive  in  this  great  city,  among  all  these  people,  without  know- 
ing where  I  am  ;  and  you  will  have  to  ask  where  my  barracks 
are  ;  then  be  on  your  feet  for  so  long  a  time,  alone,  old,  ill, 
and  exhausted  ;  and  perhaps  you  will  lose  your  way  and  wander 
about,  worrying  that  you  cannot  find  me.  .  .  .  Ah,  poor  old 
woman  !  "  He  kept  his  hands  clasped  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  wall,  biting  one  lip  and  then  the  other,  and  closing  his  eye- 
lids to  keep  back  the  tears  which  were  ready  to  fall.  Then 
repeated  from  time  to  time  :  "  Poor  old  woman  !  " 

After  which  he  passed  both  hands  over  his  face,  shook  his 
head,  gave  a  sigh,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  paced  the  room  with 
the  hurried  steps  of  a  traveller.  After  a  little  he  suddenly 
stopped.  "  It  must  be  time  for  her  now  ! "  He  ran  to  the 
window  on  the  street,  leaned  out,  looked  to  the  right  and  left, 
once,  twice,  thrice,  but  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  head.  "  Let  me  think  of  something  else  ! "  he 
said  to  himself  ;  and  so  tried  to  drive  the  image  of  his  mother 
from  his  mind  in  order  to  pass  this  season  of  anxious  expec- 
tation. Drive  away  that  image  !  Poor  fellow  !  It  was  out  of 
the  question,  so  he  abandoned  the  idea. 

"  Look,  mother,"  he  said  aloud,  shaking  his  two  open  hands 
before  his  face,  "  I  love  you  so  well,  so  well !  "  .  .  ,  He  looked 
around  ;  there  was  no  one  ;  he  continued  :  "  More  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  world  !  "  And  letting  his  clasped  hands  fall 
upon  the  bed,  he  continued  to  shake  his  head  gently  as  if  to 
signify  more  clearly  by  act  the  meaning  of  his  last  words. 
"  More  than  any  thing  in  the  world."  Then  suddenly  he. 


$2  MILITARY  LIFE. 

roused  himself  :  "  It  must  be  time  now  !  "  he  said,  and  again 
he  went  to  the  window,  then  stopped  suddenly,  and  turned  his 
back :  "  No,"  saying  to  himself  as  he  did  so,  "  you  must  not 
look."  He  tapped  the  floor  with  his  foot  as  if  to  repeat,  No. 
But  smiled,  and  the  smile  meant :  "  Ah,  I  cannot  help  it !  " 
and  in  fact,  a  moment  later  he  again  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  Still  no  one  in  sight. 

He  returned  to  the  bedside  and  tried  to  invent  some  methoc. 
for  passing  time.  He  bent  one  arm  with  his  forefinger  against 
his  chin,  raised  the  elbow  of  that  arm  with  the  palm  of  the 
other,  and,  fastening  his  eyes  upon  the  bed  while  resting  a  knee 
on  the  edge,  he  ran  homeward  in  his  mind,  saw  his  mother 
make  up  a  bundle  of  shirts  and  handkerchiefs  to  bring  him, 
saw  her  take  leave  of  the  family  and  start,  then  accompanied 
her  along  the  road  in  his  mind's  eye,  that  long,  long  road  !  un- 
der the  burning  sun,  in  the  midst  of  clouds  of  dust  raised  by 
carts  and  carriages  which  were  passing  rapidly.  He  saw  those 
carts  graze  the  poor  woman's  skirts,  touch  her,  shake  her, 
She,  so  old,  tired,  and  infirm  had  not  the  time  to  avoid  them, 
when  another  one  rushes  on,  is  near  her,  is  about  to  hit  her. 
"  Ah,  move  out  of  the  way  !  "  the  son  exclaims  above  his  breath  ; 
making,  without  being  aware  of  it,  a  motion  with  his  hand  as 
if  to  seize  her  by  the  arm  and  drag  her  to  one  side.  He 
pointed  out  the  curbings  she  was  to  avoid,  and  the  bits  of  the 
road  filled  with  stones,  and  the  edges  of  the  ditches.  After 
much  walking  he  seemed  to  see  the  poor  old  woman  totter, 
bent  under  the  weight  of  her  bundle,  quite  exhausted,  thirsty, 
and  he  was  worried,  groaned,  and  said  to  himself  :  "  Oh,  poor 
woman,  give  me  that  bundle  ;  let  me  carry  it  for  you  ;  take  my 
arm."  He  moved  his  right  elbow  and  seemed  to  feel  between 


THE   MOTHER.  53 

his  arm  and  body  a  trembling  arm,  and  with  his  left  hand, 
keeping  his  eyes  quite  motionless  all  the  time,  he  felt  the  air  to 
the  right,  as  high  as  his  side,  in  search  of  his  mother's  hand. 

Then  he  came  to  himself  ;  the  thought  that  within  a  few 
moments  he  would  embrace  his  mother  returned  clearly  to  his 
mind,  and  he  felt,  as  at  first,  all  its  sweetness  ;  his  eyes 
brightened,  his  lips  trembled,  all  his  features  gleamed  with  joy. 
A  slight  smile,  then  a  broad  one,  then  came  a  convulsive  laugh  ; 
his  chest  and  shoulders  rose  and  fell  as  after  a  breathless  race  ; 
and  finally  he  threw  himself  upon  the  bed  with  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  gave  way  to  a  mixture  of  tears  and  laughter,  still 
shaking  his  head  as  if  to  say  :  "  Poor  mother  !  " 

"  Are  you  going  mad  ? "  shouted  the  corporal  while  crossing 
the  dormitory  and  stopping  at  the  door-way  through  which  he 
was  to  pass  out. 

The  soldier  started,  rose  to  his  feet,  turned,  and  looked  at 
him  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  his  lips  parted  with  a  smile  ; 
he  had  not  understood  him.  The  corporal  disappeared  mur- 
muring :  "  He  is  mad  ;  he  is  mad  !  " 

When  left  alone,  he  stood  meditatively  for  a  moment  ;  then, 
struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  seized  his  knapsack  leaning 
against  the  bread-shelf,  drew  it  down  on  to  the  bed,  opened  it 
after  having  played  for  a  time  with  the  buckles  of  the  straps, 
dove  into  it  with  both  hands,  and  drew  out  hurriedly  brushes, 
combs,  boxes,  and  rags  ;  placed  them  all  on  the  coverlid,  seized 
a  brush,  put  his  foot  on  the  edge  of  one  of  the  bed  slats,  leaned 
over,  and  began  to  polish  his  boots  with  all  his  might,  stopping 
from  time  to  time  to  see  if  they  were  shining  well. 

"  I  must  be  clean,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  serious  face, 
continuing  his  work  with  the  brush  ;  "  I  wish  to  shine  like  a 


54  MILITARY  LIFE. 

mirror  ;  I  wish  to  make  a  fair  soldier  of  myself,  for  I  want  to 
please  her."  When  the  boots  were  polished  he  seized  his 
clothes  brush,  then  the  comb,  then  dove  into  the  knapsack 
again,  drew  out  a  little  round  glass,  opened  it,  and  looked  at 
himself.  .  .  .  When  the  soul  is  deeply  moved  by  a  strong 
and  lovely  affection,  and  the  mind  quite  full  of  sunny  thoughts 
and  fancies,  the  eyes  and  smile  assume  such  an  impress  of  the 
sweetness  of  that  affection  and  the  serenity  of  those  thoughts, 
that  even  the  plainest  face,  at  such  a  moment,  is  lighted 
up  by  a  ray  of  beauty  ;  so  the  good  soldier,  in  looking  in  the 
glass  and  seeing  his  soul  shining  on  his  face,  smiled  with  satis- 
faction. 

At  that  instant  he  heard  a  quick  step  on  the  stairs  ;  listened 
attentively  ;  the  sound  was  approaching  ;  it  was  the  corporal 
of  the  guard  ;  he  entered,  looked  about,  saw  our  young  man. 
"  See  here,"  he  exclaimed,  in  catching  sight  of  him,  and  calling 
him  by  name,  "  there  is  a  woman  at  the  door  who  is  looking 
for  you  ! " 

"  My  mother ! "  shouted  the  son,  running  rapidly  through 
the  dormitories  ;  he  dashed  down  the  stairs,  across  the  court,  into 
the  vestibule ;  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  woman,  sprang  toward 
her.  She  opened  her  arms,  he  fell  on  her  breast,  and  both  of 
them  uttered  a  cry.  The  son  placed  his  hands  on  his  mother's 
temples,  passed  them  through  her  gray  hair,  bent  back  her  head, 
looked  into  her  eyes,  then  pressed  that  dear  head  against  his 
shoulder,  covered  it  with  his  arms,  and  fastened  his  lips  upon 
her  hair,  from  which  the  handkerchief  had  fallen.  The  good 
woman  stifled  her  sobs  against  the  shoulder  of  her  son,  and 
seizing  him  around  the  waist,  passed  her  thin  hands  over 
the  rough  jacket,  which  for  her,  at  that  moment,  was  worth  a 


THE    MOTHER.  55 

hundred  times  more  than  the  most  beautiful  kingly  mantle. 
The  soldiers  of  the  guard  grouped  respectfully  on  one  side, 
looked  motionless  and  silently  upon  that  holy  embrace,  and  I 
looked  too,  as  I  was  on  guard  duty  that  day,  and  stood  near 
in  the  door  of  my  room. 

"  Come,  compose  yourself,  mother  ;  be  brave  ;  don't  cry  so.  My 
God  !  why  should  you  weep  ?  "  the  son  kept  saying  in  a  cares- 
sing tone,  as  he  pushed  back  behind  her  ears  with  both  hands 
the  hair  which  had  been  scattered  over  the  forehead  in  the  im- 
pulse of  the  first  embrace.  The  old  woman  continued  to  sob 
hard,  without  weeping  or  without  words  ;  until,  in  raising  her 
eyes  to  her  son's  face,  she  smiled,  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if 
lifting  a  weight  from  her  heart,  and  murmuring,  "  My  son  !  " 
embraced  him  again.  "  Are  you  tired  ? "  asked  the  soldier 
anxiously,  tearing  himself  from  her  arms.  "  A  little,"  replied 
the  woman,  smiling.  She  glanced  around  in  search  of  a  place 
where  she  could  lay  down  the  great  bundle  which  she  had 
brought  with  her.  "  Come  in  here,"  I  said,  throwing  open  the 
door  of  my  room.  "  Oh,  the  officer  !  "  she  said,  turning  tow- 
ard me,  and  making  a  courtesy  ;  "  thank  you,  sir."  The 
soldier  was  a  trifle  confused.  "  Come  in."  I  repeated  ;  "  come 
in."  They  both  entered  timidly,  and  approached  the  little 
table  ;  the  old  woman  laid  her  bundle  on  it,  and  I  moved  to 
one  side. 

"  Let  me  see  you,  my  son  ;  turn  around  ;  let  me  look 
at  you,"  the  woman  began  to  say.  The  soldier,  smiling, 
turned  to  show  himself  on  every  side.  And  the  mother  draw- 
ing back,  glancing  at  him  from  head  to  foot,  and  clasping  her 
hands,  exclaimed  affectionately  :  "  How  handsome  you  are, 
dressed  like  this  !  "  And  the  poor  old  woman  felt  herself  re- 


$6  MILITARY  LIFE. 

juvenated,  and  was  almost  seized  with  the  desire  to  dance 
around  him.  She  approached  him,  then  moved  off,  returned  to 
his  side,  and  devoured  him  with  her  eyes.  She  placed  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  let  them  fall  down  the  arm  until 
they  reached  his  hands  ;  put  her  face  close  to  his  breast  in  or- 
der to  see  the  buttons  ;  then  noticing  that  she  had  dulled  the 
cross  on  his  belt  with  her  breath,  she  rubbed  it  with  the  hem  of 
her  apron  ;  finally,  after  having  looked  and  looked  again  at  him 
for  some  time,  she  threw  her  arms  around  him  once  more,  calling 
him  lovingly  by  name  as  she  did  so.  Then  she  suddenly  let  go 
of  him,  and  asked  anxiously  :  "  And  the  war  ?  "  The  son 
smiled.  She  repeated  :  "  And  the  war  ?  Tell  me,  my  son, 
when  are  you  going  to  war  ?  "  "  Oh,  heavens  !  who  has  been 
talking  to  you  about  the  war,  good  woman  that  you  are  ?  " 
"  Oh,  there  is  n't  any  war,  then  ? "  she  asked,  quite  content. 
"  You  will  never  go  to  war,  will  you  ?  Never  again  ?  "  "I 
can't  say  never  again,  my  dear."  "Oh,  then,  you  are  going  ! 
tell  me  the  truth,  my  son."  "  My  good  mother,  what  do  you 
suppose  we  soldiers  know  about  it  ? "  "  But  if  you  who  go 
don't  know,"  the  mother  replied  in  that  tone  of  profound  per- 
suasion, "  who  can,  then  ?  " 

Having  said  which,  she  stood  still  awaiting  his  reply 
with  such  a  curious  expression  of  face  and  form,  with 
such  a  charmingly  pleasing  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  certain 
ineffable  light  in  her  eyes,  that  her  son,  smiling  too,  was 
almost  entranced  in  looking  at  her ;  and  she  pleased  him 
so  much  at  that  moment,  he  felt  such  a  new  and  strong  im- 
pulse drawing  him  to  her  in  his  heart,  that  he  sprang  toward 
her  with  one  bound,  pressed  her  head  between  his  hands,  kissed 
her,  shook  her  playfully  as  they  do  children,  and  placing  his 


THE    MOTHER.  $7 

lips  on  her  forehead,  murmured  smiling  :     "  My  poor,  dear  old 
mother !  " 

And  I,   standing  there  with  my  back  against  the  wall  und 
my  arms  crossed  on  my  breast,  thought  : 

"  Here  is  a  man  who  adores  his  mother  !  He  cannot  help 
being  a  good,  respectful,  well-disciplined  soldier,  full  of  amour 
propre  and  courage.  Yes,  courage  too,  because  the  souls  which 
feel  deeply  and  strongly  can  never  be  cowardly.  That  soldier 
there,  taken  on  to  the  battle-field,  would  allow  himself  to  be 
killed  without  fear,  and  he  would  die  with  the  name  of  his 
mother  upon  his  lips.  Teach  him  what  his  country  is  ;  make  |  * 
him  understand  that  the  country  is  a  hundred  thousand  mothers  I 
and  a  hundred  thousand  families  like  his  own,  and  he  will  love  V 
his  country  with  enthusiasm.  But  one  must  begin  with  the 
mother.  Oh  !  if  we  could  discover  the  germ  of  all  the  lovely 
affections  and  all  the  honest  and  generous  actions  of  which  we 
are  proud,  we  should  almost  always  discover  them  in  the  heart 
of  our  mothers.  How  many  medals  of  military  valor  ought  to 
gleam  on  the  breasts  of  the  mothers  instead  of  the  sons  !  and 
how  many  wreaths  of  laurel  ought  to  rest  upon  an  old,  bald 
head  instead  of  upon  the  brown  one  of  youth  !  Oh,  mothers, 
you  should  never  die  !  You  should  remain  at  the  side  of  your 
sons,  and  accompany  them  to  the  end  of  the  journey  of  life. 
Before  you,  even  when  we  are  old,  we  would  always  be  children, 
and  love  you  ever  with  the  same  love.  Instead,  you  leave  us 
alone  .  .  .  oh  no  !  no  !  not  alone  ;  your  sweet  memory  re- 
mains with  us,  your  dear  image  is  always  before  our  eyes,  your 
loving  counsels  are  everpresent  to  the  spirit,  and  this  is  enough. 
Every  time  that  a  weariness  of  life  assails  us,  and  some  hard 
disillusion  raises  in  our  hearts  a  feeling  of  hatred  and  aversion 


58  MILITARY  LIFE. 

for  men,  we  will  call  up  your  holy,  benign,  and  peace-giving 
image  ;  we  shall  feel  that  we  hear  your  dear  voice,  which  chided 
us  when  children,  calling  us  by  name ;  and  we  will  bend  our 
knees  irresistibly  and  clasp  our  hands  before  your  image,  asking 
your  pardon  ! " 

At  that  moment  the  major  comes  grumbling  into  the  barracks : 
"Where  is  the  officer  of  the  guard  ?  "  he  asks  of  some  one  out- 
side the  door.  I  here  started  to  go  out,  and  planting  myself 
pale  before  him,  with  my  hand  at  my  cap,  and  cry  :  "  Present !  " 

He  looks  at  me  fixedly  and  makes  a  sort  of  face,  as  if  to  say  : 
"What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  you ?" 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT. 


I. 

CHILDREN  of  the  two  sexes,  until  a  decided  difference  in 
form  begins  to  become  apparent,  may  have  their  playthings 
and  amusements  in  common  :  but  when,  while  the  softness  and 
gentleness  of  outline  remain  in  the  girl,  in  the  boy  the  charac- 
istics  of  the  man  begin  to  show  themselves,  the  resemblance 
changes  little  by  little,  and  one  sex  turns  and  attaches  itself 
definitely  to  dolls,  the  other  to  guns,  trumpets,  and  drums. 
Together  with  the  fancy  for  arms,  there  usually  awakes  in 
boys  a  passion  for  soldiers  :  in  some  temperaments  it  is  only 
passing  ;  in  others  violent,  irresistible,  and  lasting.  And  it  is 
exactly  in  this  that  the  difference  in  the  two  natures  mani- 
fests itself  first  and  most  noticeably  ;  for  while  the  woman 
seeks  and  loves  that  which  signifies  peace,  weakness,  and  love, 
the  man  dashes  with  ardor  toward  that  which  represents 
strength,  power,  and  glory. 

After  the  members  of  the  family  and  household,  our  first 
affection,  our  first  outburst  of  enthusiasm  is  for  the  soldier. 
Soldiers  are  the  first  figures  which  we  draw  on  the  school-room 
walls  and  the  book  covers  ;  soldiers  the  first  persons  whom  we 
turn  back  to  look  after  in  the  street,  stopping  and  obliging 
the  person  who  is  holding  our  hand  to  do  the  same.  The  first 

59 


60  MILITARY  LIFE. 

cent  we  receive  is  spent  at  a  bookseller's  for  a  sheet  of  colored 
soldiers  ;  and  all  that  which  belongs  to  soldiers, — weapons,  uni- 
forms, galloons,  feathers,  trinkets,  and  sash, — becomes  the  object 
of  our  most  ardent  desires  and  our  dearest  hopes  ;  so  much  so 
that  we  feel  that,  despite  any  sacrifice  or  any  opposition,  we 
shall  enlist  as  soldiers  when  the  proper  time  arrives  ;  yes,  sol- 
diers, soldiers,  even  if  the  world  falls  ;  mamma  will  cry,  papa 
growl  out  in  that  deep  voice  which  he  reserves  for  the  most 
daring  escapades  :  no  matter  ;  the  matter  is  decided,  we  will  be 
soldiers. 

Here  the  mania  for  arms  begins,  and  we  search,  prowl  about, 
dive  into  every  thing  to  see  if  there  is  not  even-  a  cane,  stick,  or 
leg  of  a  broken  table  in  the  house,  which,  having  been  shaped 
by  the  blade  of  our  penknife,  may  not  serve,  for  a  longer  or 
shorter  length  of  time,  as  a  rapier,  dagger,  or  gun.  Who  of  us 
has  not  passed  long  hours  astride  a  chair,  with  his  breast  against 
the  back,  working  his  legs  as  if  spurring  on  a  horse,  waving 
aloft  the  handle  of  a  broom,  and  holding  forth  in  a  certain 
slow,  deep,  solemn  tone,  like  a  general  who  is  commanding  a 
division  ?  Who  does  not  remember  the  first  sword  which  he 
received  from  an  uncle,  godfather,  or  some  retired  officer,  an 
old  friend  of  the  family,  on  his  birthday,  or  as  a  reward  for 
good  conduct  at  school  ?  But  let  it  be  understood,  not  one  of 
those  ordinary  wooden  swords,  bound  in  silver  paper,  mere 
playthings  for  children,  which  do  not  even  frighten  flies ;  but  a 
real  sword,  a  genuine  blade,  such  as  they  use  in  war.  .  .  . 
Oh  !  the  first  sword  is  a  great  source  of  delight ! 

Then  those  beautiful  spring  mornings  (which  take  away  the 
desire  for  books,  and  put  a  fever  into  one's  legs,  as  Giusti  says) 
when,  seated  at  the  table,  yawning  and  dozing  over  a  fable  of 


THE   SON  OF   THE   REGIMENT.  6 1 

Fedro  to  be  turned  into  Italian,  we  suddenly  hear  a  great 
outburst  of  trumpets  and  drums  down  in  the  street.  To  the 
devil  with  books  and  copy-books,  and  down  the  stairs,  at  a 
break-neck  pace,  behind  the  soldiers,  until  we  reach  the  parade 
ground,  and  can  contemplate  with  ecstasy  that  bright  gleam- 
ing of  bayonets,  appearing  and  disappearing  like  a  flash  above 
the  heads  of  the  battalions,  and  hear  that  noisy  and  prolonged 
hurrah  of  the  besieged,  which  stirs  our  blood,  and  makes  us 
feel  our  strength  doubled  as  we  involuntarily  clench  our  little 
fists  ; — who  does  not  remember  those  beautiful  mornings  ?  It  is 
true  that  on  returning  home,  we  have  to  confront  the  angry 
look  of  papa,  or  something  worse  ;  but  that  being  able  to  say  : 
"  I  have  been  on  the  parade  ground," — ah  !  it  is  a  great  relief 
to  the  conscience,  an  excuse  which  one  can  adduce,  and 
which  in  fact  one  does  adduce  without  humility  or  fear. 

How  well,  also,  do  we  remember  the  first  soldier  with  whom, 
after  a  little  persistency,  we  succeeded  in  making  friends? 
And  again,  the  first  time  that,  on  the  parade  ground,  or  at 
target-shooting,  we  have  had  the  honor  of  going  to  fetch  a  little 
water  from  a  neighboring  spring  in  our  own  broken  bowl  ?  We 
brought  it  so  full  that  it  would  have  overflowed  at  the  slightest 
movement  ;  yet  not  one  drop  was  spilled,  so  careful  were  we 
with  eyes  and  arms,  making  every  possible  effort  of  body  and 
soul  to  discharge  our  honorable  task  worthily  !  Then  to  be 
seen  on  the  promenade  with  a  corporal  of  the  sharp-shooters, 
for  instance  !  It  is  one  of  those  pleasures  in  thinking  of 
which  I  wish  to  be  a  boy  again,  in  order  to  experience  it  once 
more,  or  to  experience  it  as  a  man,  even  at  the  cost  of  appearing 
childish.  Then  in  the  evening,  at  the  hour  of  retreat,  when  we 
accompanied  our  young  corporal  to  the  door  of  the  barracks 


62  MILITARY  LIFE. 

and  said  good-night,  or  secured  the  promise  of  a  meeting  for  the 
following  day  in  a  loud  voice,  so  that  all  the  boys  round  about 
might  hear  it ;  and  the  next  day  we  took  a  charming  walk  together 
outside  the  city,  and  on  reaching  a  solitary  spot,  begged  our 
friend  to  let  us  see  his  poniard ;  to  which  he  replied  that  it  was 
forbidden,  and  we  continued  teasing  him  ;  he  refusing,  and 
we  saying  :  "  Do  me  the  favor  for  a  moment  only,  only  just  one 
moment";  until  the  poor  corporal,  after  glancing  around,  drew 
out  the  dagger  from  its  sheath  with  a  certain  air  of  mystery, 
and  the  sight  of  that  beautiful,  bare,  gleaming  blade  sent  a 
shudder  through  our  veins.  Then  we  touched  it  lightly  with 
our  finger,  asking  if  it  were  sharp,  and  if  one  blow  would  kill 
a  man  .  .  .  Oh,  the  friendship  of  a  corporal  is  a  great 
thing  for  you  !  That,  among  others,  of  always  having  in  your 
pocket  some  beautiful  new  cartridges,  sometimes  powder  too, 
and,  perhaps,  even  a  beautiful  cross  of  an  old  plate,  or  bruised 
metal  buttons,  and  even — but  these  are  fortunes  which  rarely 
fall  to  one's  lot.  You  may  become  the  possessor  of  a  couple 
of  bits  of  gold  lace,  a  trifle  worn  perhaps,  but  always  in  such  a 
condition  as  to  cut  a  stupendous  figure  on  the  sleeves  of  your 
house- jacket.  And  all  the  boys  in  the  neighborhood  will 
respect  you. 

The  idea  which  one  has,  as  a  child,  of  the  superiority  of  sol- 
diers over  other  citizens,  is  something  really  marvellous.  There 
can  be  no  soldiers  who  are  not  prodigies  of  courage.  There 
are  absolutely  no  soldiers  who  are  weaker  than  the  strongest 
civilian.  No  one  in  the  world  can  run  like  a  sharp-shooter  ;  the 
handsomest  beards  in  town  belong  to  the  sappers  ;  there  is 
nothing  more  terrible  on  earth  than  an  officer  with  an  un- 
sheathed sword — especially  if  it  has  just  come  from  the  hands 


THE    SON   OF   THE  REGIMENT.  63 

of  a  knife-grinder.  And  in  fact,  when  we  set  the  marionettes 
dancing,  and  improvised  comedies,  there  might  be  a  fierce 
struggle  on  the  stage  between  ten  armed  characters,  or  there 
might  be  even  princes  and  kings  to  make  a  great  deal  of  racket 
with  their  swords  in  hand  ;  but  at  the  appearance  of  two  sol- 
diers with  muskets  slung  across  their  shoulders,  all  the  other 
wooden  heads  suddenly  were  quiet,  and  on  their  good  be- 
havior, and  sometimes  even  the  crowns  bowed  before  the 
fatigue  caps.  When  late  at  evening,  suddenly  hearing  down 
in  the  street,  before  the  door  of  a  tavern,  a  confused  sound  of 
angry  and  threatening  voices,  oaths,  blows,  and  cudgels,  and  a 
crying  of  women  and  children,  and  on  going  to  the  window 
we  could  see  the  daggers  gleam,  we  understood  that  there  was 
a  fight  between  the  soldiers  and  workmen,  did  n't  we  always 
pray  that  the  former  should  do  all  the  killing,  and  the  latter  be 
beaten  ?  And  if  the  contrary  occurred,  how  provoked  were  we  ! 
This  intense  affection  of  children  is  returned  by  the  soldiers 
with  an  affection  naturally  less  enthusiastic,  but  not  less  strong. 
Conscripts  who  have  just  come  into  the  regiment,  or  even  old 
soldiers  who  have  barely  arrived  from  an  unknown  city,  pray, 
where  do  they  seek  and  find  their  first  friends  ?  In  that  crowd 
of  gamins  who  hang  around  the  drummers  when  the  regi- 
ment goes  to  the  parade  ground.  From  them  come  the  first 
smiles,  the  first  hand-shakings ;  with  them  the  first  meetings, 
the  first  genial  and  confidential  conversations,  the  first  solitary 
walks  in  the  country,  the  first  outbursts  of  rage  against  their 
all-powerful  superiors,  the  first  laments  over  the  severity  of  the 
discipline,  and  from  them  the  first  words  of  comfort  and  con- 
solation. They  let  them  write  and  read  their  letters  from 
home,  and  relate  all  the  most  insignificant  particulars  of  their 


64  MILITARY  LIFE. 

family  life,  and  listen  with  pleasure,  and  sometimes  with  a  cer- 
tain tender  melancholy,  because,  far  as  they  are  from  their  own 
relatives,  these  conversations  revive  in  their  hearts  thai  affec- 
tionate feeling  for  home  which  one  never  experiences  in  the 
noisy  rooms  of  the  barracks.  By  means  of  these  children, 
they  form,  little  by  little,  a  friendship  with  the  porter  ;  and 
through  the  latter  succeed  in  a  short  time  in  enlarging  the 
circle  of  their  friendly  relations,  so  that,  in  case  of  need, 
they  know  to  whom  they  can  have  recourse,  and,  in  any  case, 
with  whom  they  can  exchange  a  little  gossip,  all  the  more  if 
among  their  friends  there  be  some  good  woman  who  has  a 
soldier  son.  Thus,  to  the  sympathy  and  affection  in  their 
hearts  for  these  children  is  added  a  feeling  of  gratitude  ;  and 
by  means  of  them  their  little  friends,  too,  form  new  friend- 
ships ;  little  by  little,  in  such  and  such  a  company,  in  such  and 
such  a  battalion,  there  is  no  unknown  or  indifferent  face,  and 
their  affection,  the  first  burst  of  enthusiasm  past,  takes  deeper 
and  more  lasting  root.  When  the  regiment  goes  away.  .  .  . 
I  have  experienced  it,  we  seek  our  mother,  go  and  sit  down 
beside  her,  and  remain  there  with  a  serious  face  in  order  to 
be  asked  some  question  that  will  provoke  an  outburst  of  our 
grief. — "  What  is  the  matter,  child  ? "  And  we  do  not  reply. 
"  Don't  keep  me  in  suspense  ;  what  has  happened  to  you  ? 
what  has  occurred  ?  "  Then  we  throw  ourselves  into  her  arms 
and  tell  her  what  it  is  ;  and  our  mother,  quite  moved,  passes 
her  hand  over  our  forehead,  exclaiming  as  she  does  so  :  "  Oh, 
poor  boy  !  Be  comforted,  others  will  come."  Then  we  re- 
turn comforted  to  our  swords  and  drums. 

L'      O  mothers,  let  your  boys  come  with  us  ;  we  will  love  them 
like  brothers,  like  sons  ;  and  on  leaving  us  they  will  return  to 


THE   SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  6$ 

your  bosom  stronger  and  more  loving,  because  among  soldiers\ 
one  learns  to  love,  and  with  a  depth  of  affection  that  softens ' 
both  heart  and  soul. 

In  proof  of  which  I  will  relate  an  incident  that  took  place 
some  years  ago  in  a  regiment  of  our  army,  and  which  was 
told  me  by  a  friend  who  played  an  important  part  in  it.  I 
will  try  to  recall  to  mind  his  own  words. 

II. 

Upon  one  of  the  last  evenings  of  1866,  our  division,  which 
in  the  afternoon  had  left  Battaglia  (a  large  place  on  the  east- 
ern slopes  of  the  Euganen  Hills),  entered  the  city  of  Padua  by 
the  Porta  Santa  Croce,  as  they  were  to  pass  through  it  en  route 
to  Venice.  Although  many  other  corps  had  passed  through  the 
town,  and  the  streets  we  crossed  were  farthest  from  the  cen- 
tre and  the  least  frequented,  yet  the  welcome  accorded  us  by 
the  people  was  very  warm.  I,  however,  only  remember  it  as  I 
would  a  dream  ;  I  retain  a  faint  recollection  of  it,  as  one  does 
of  the  first  conversation  with  his  inamorata,  when  he  trem- 
bles all  over,  becomes  white  in  the  face,  and  every  thing 
grows  black  around  him.  Yes,  in  approaching  Padua,  the 
first  great  city  in  the  Venetian  district  that  we  reached,  my 
heart  beat  wildly  and  my  thoughts  grew  confused.  When  we 
entered  later,  and  an  immense  multitude,  breaking  out  into  a 
loud  cry,  dashed  into  our  ranks,  broke  them,  surrounded  and 
scattered  us  in  a  few  moments  on  every  side,  so  that  there  was 
no  trace  of  order  in  the  columns,  then  my  sight  as  well  as  my 
mind  became  clouded.  I  remember  feeling  myself  squeezed 
around  the  throat  and  waist  several  times  by  two  convulsive 
arms,  and  tapped  on  the  shoulder  and  arms  by  two  trembling 


66  MILITARY  LIFE. 

hands  ;  of  feeling  myself  kissed  in  the  face  by  burning  mouths, 
with  the  same  fury  with  which  a  mother  would  kiss  her  son  on 
first  seeing  him  after  a  long  absence  ;  of  having  felt  the  con- 
tact of  many  gloves  wet  with  tears  ;  of  having  stopped  several 
times  to  disengage  my  sword  from  the  hands  of  some  boy  who 
was  shaking  it  violently  in  order  to  make  me  turn  around  and 
take  notice  of  his  small  "  evviva  "  ;  then  of  having  walked  quite 
a  distance  with  half  a  dozen  bunches  of  flowers  in  my  jacket,  so 
that  I  looked  like  a  country  bridegroom  ;  and,  finally,  of  hear- 
ing resound  about  me  a  continuous  and  very  loud  hurrah.  .  .  . 
But  nonsense,  they  were  not  hurrahs,  but  inarticulate  cries, 
broken  by  sobs,  stifled  by  embraces  ;  they  were  groans  coming 
from  chests  oppressed  and  exhausted  by  the  depth  of  joy  ; 
voices  with  a  tone  that  my  ear  had  never  heard  before,  but 
which  had  sounded  many  times  in  my  mind,  when  imagining 
the  expression  of  a  joy  greater  than  human  strength.  The 
crowd  mingled  with  a  dizzy  rapidity,  and,  flowing  along,  bore 
the  soldiers  here  and  there,  always,  however,  advancing  in  the 
direction  that  the  column  had  taken  on  its  entrance  ;  and  above 
the  heads  of  the  multitude  could  be  seen  a  great  waving  of  arms, 
muskets,  and  banners,  and  this  one  and  that  one  rushing  vio- 
lently together  and  instantly  separating,  according  to  the  impetu- 
osity of  the  embrace  and  the  rapid  separation  of  the  civilians 
and  soldiers.  The  boys  seized  the  soldiers  by  the  hems  of 
their  coats  or  by  the  sheath  of  the  bayonet,  and  jealously  dis- 
puted their  hands  in  order  to  press  their  lips  on  them  ;  and 
the  women,  too,  young,  old,  of  the  people,  or  of  rank,  pressed 
the  hands  of  the  soldiers  and  put  flowers  in  the  button-holes 
of  their  coats,  asking  them  gently  if  they  had  come  from  far 
and  felt  tired.  They  handed  them  fruit  and  cigars,  offered 


THE  SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT,  67 

their  table  and  house,  scorning  with  amiable  affectation  their 
refusals,  and  warmly  renewing  invitations  and  prayers.  There 
was  not  one  face  in  that  multitude  that  was  not  transfigured  by 
emotion, — eyes  dilated  and  flaming,  cheeks  pale  and  tear- 
stained,  lips  trembling  ;  and  in  every  attitude,  every  gesture, 
every  cry,  something  feverish  and  convulsive,  which  stirred  yourj 
blood  and  made  you  tremble  in  every  fibre,  so  much  so  that 
you  were  tempted  to  reply  to  the  salutations  and  benedic- 
tions of  those  people,  and  yet  could  not  utter  one  word.  The 
houses  were  covered  with  flags  :  at  every  window  there  was  a 
group  of  persons,  one  above  the  other  ;  the  last  erect  on 
chairs  with  their  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  the  foremost,  the 
former  so  pressed  against  the  sill  as  to  be  almost  crushed. 
Some  were  waving  handkerchiefs,  others  their  hands  in  the 
way  of  a  greeting,  and  some  throwing  down  flowers  ;  all  with 
their  necks  outstretched  and  their  mouths  wide  open  like  lit- 
tle birds  in  a  nest  at  the  appearance  of  the  mother.  Some 
children  held  in  their  mothers'  arms  waved  their  wee  hands 
toward  us,  and  uttered  a  small  cry  which  was  lost  mid-air  in 
the  noise  of  the  crowd.  The  openings  of  the  streets,  the 
door-ways  of  the  workshops  and  stores  were  full  of  people.  I 
saw  many  of  those  good  operatives  place  a  cigar  in  the  hands 
of  one  of  the  boys,  point  out  a  soldier,  and  push  him  to- 
ward him.  I  saw  some  excellent  women  put  their  children 
out  to  the  officers  so  that  they  might  kiss  them,  as  if  that  em- 
brace  were  a  benediction  from  heaven.  I  saw  tottering  old  men 
pressing  the  heads  of  the  soldiers  against  their  breasts,  and  hold- 
ing them  fast  as  if  they  could  never  let  them  go.  ...  In  the 
midst  of  so  many  and  such  forcible  demonstrations  of  gratitude 
and  affection,  the  soldiers,  poor  fellows,  were  quite  stupefied, 


68  MILITARY  LIFE. 

and  laughed  and  cried  at  once,  not  being  able  to  find  words 
with  which  to  return  thanks,  or  if  they  found  them  they  could 
not  utter  them,  but  tried  by  signs  to  say  :  "  It  is  too  much, 
too  much  !  We  do  not  deserve  all  this  !  Our  hearts  cannot 
bear  it !  " 

As  we  approached  the  gate  by  which  we  were  to  go  out,  the 
crowd  began  to  thin  and  the  soldiers  fell  slowly  into  line. 

The  gate  through  which  we  were  to  pass  is  called  by  the 
people  of  Padua  the  Portello.  We  were  accompanied  to  the 
limit  by  many  citizens,  the  majority,  gentlemen,  mixed  with  the 
soldiers,  arm  in  arm  with  them,  and  all  engaged  in  a  lively, 
noisy,  rapid,  and  broken  conversation ;  for  after  the  first  out- 
burst of  enthusiasm,  which  had  only  found  vent  in  tears  and 
cries,  there  had  followed  a  great  desire  for  words,  a  thousand 
questions  and  protestations,  they  interrupting  themselves  from 
time  to  time  to  look  well  in  each  other's  faces,  with  a  smile 
that  meant :  "  Is  this  really  an  Italian  soldier  whom  I  have 
on  my  arm  !  "  "  Are  we  really  here  in  the  midst  of  the  blessed 
Paduans  !  "  And  here  a  long  pressure  of  the  hand  and  a  re- 
ciprocal shake  of  the  arm,  which  signified  :  "  You  are  here  ; 
I  feel  you  ;  I  shall  not  let  you  escape."  In  that  half  hour 
which  was  employed  in  crossing  the  city,  many  friendships 
were  made,  many  promises  to  write  were  exchanged,  many 
propositions  to  meet  on  the  return  were  made,  and  meetings 
arranged  and  noted  down  in  the  pocket-books  with  names  and 
addresses.  "  You  will  write  me  first !  "  "I  the  first.  As  soon 
as  we  arrive  in  camp."  "  You  promise  me  ? "  "  Yes,  I  prom- 
ise you."  Then  another  warm  pressure  of  the  hand,  another 
shake  of  the  arm,  and  the  regiment  approaches  the  gate,  the 
dialogues  become  warmer  and  noisier,  the  gestures  more  ex- 


THE  SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  69 

cited,  and  the  expression  of  the  faces  more  animated  ;  then 
they  repeat  the  cries  and  hurrahs  which  had  ceased  for  a  short 
time,  and  the  soldiers  begin  to  get  into  disorder  again,  until 
on  arriving  at  the  gate  the  greater  portion  of  the  crowd  stop. 
There,  again,  you  can  imagine  a  confusion  and  shouting  that 
is  indescribable  ;  an  embracing  and  kissing  ;  a  loosening  of 
the  arms  from  one  in  order  to  throw  themselves  into  the  arms 
of  another  ;  and  so  on,  hurriedly  exchanging  good  wishes,  salu- 
tations, and  benedictions.  Finally,  the  regiment  was  outside 
of  the  gate  and  ranged  in  marching  order,  two  files  to  the 
right  and  two  files  to  the  left  of  the  road.  For  a  short  time 
the  soldiers  turned  now  and  then  toward  the  gate,  where  the 
crowd,  still  stationary,  went  on  waving  handkerchiefs  and  ut- 
tering cries  of  farewell  ;  but  little  by  little,  as  it  grew  dark, 
the  crowd  could  no  longer  be  seen,  the  cries  ceased,  the  sol- 
diers began  marching  in  order,  and  the  officers,  who  at  first 
had  been  walking  in  groups,  fell  into  their  proper  places. 

We  had  been  on  the  march  for  many  hours  ;  before  arriv- 
ing at  Padua  we  were  tired  and  had  already  begun  to  move 
slowly  and  in  disorder  ;  yet  on  coming  out  of  the  city  we 
marched  as  if  we  had  just  then  started  from  the  camp  after  a 
long  rest.  The  soldiers  walked  erect,  separate,  and  quickly  ; 
the  lines  were  closed  up,  and  a  chit-chat  was  heard  on  every 
side.  There  were  so  many  things  to  be  said. 

III. 

Now  that  night  had  fallen  the  lanterns  were  lighted.  The 
appearance  of  the  light  brought  me  to  myself,  and  showed  me 
that  we  had  not  even  left  Padua  ;  then  looking  here  and  there 
with  dilated  eyes,  as  we  do  when  we  wake  in  the  room  of  a 


7O  MILITARY  LIFE. 

hotel  and  do  not  understand  for  a  moment  where  we  are 
or  why  we  are  there,  I  saw  by  the  light  of  a  lantern  two 
small  boys  whom  the  soldiers  were  leading  by  the  hand.  I  turned 
in  the  opposite  direction,  and  saw  another  ;  looked  farther 
away,  and  saw  two  more  :  in  fact,  there  were  any  number  of 
i them.  They  were  all  led  by  hand  by  the  soldiers,  and  were 
talking  in  a  low  voice,  hiding  themselves  as  much  as  possible 
in  the  shade,  so  as  not  to  be  seen  by  the  officers,  who,  per- 
haps, might  send  them  home,  as  that  was  not  the  hour  to  leave 
the  city  and  keep  their  families  in  suspense.  The  majority  of 
the  boys,  one  could  see  from  their  clothes,  were  poor  ;  but 
there  were  not  a  few  who  were  in  comfortable  circumstances,  as 
their  faces,  timid  manners,  and  clean  clothing  showed.  At 
every  ten  or  twelve  paces  one  stopped,  and  after  shaking  hands 
and  exchanging  some  affectionate  salutation,  turned  back.  It  is 
impossible  to  tell  what  an  amount  of  sweetness,  heartiness,  and 
delicate  feeling  of  sadness  lay  in  those  leave-takings.  Then, 
the  peculiar  accent  of  the  Paduan  dialect  which  lends  itself 
so  fully  to  the  expression  of  warm  affection,  and  the  profound 
emotion,  and  the  night,  and  the  silence  that  began  to  spread 
through  the  ranks  ;  in  fact,  every  word  of  those  boys  touched 
me  deeply.  I  shall  always  remember  one  of  them  who,  in 
taking  leave  and  saying  good-by  to  all  the  soldiers,  exclaimed 
in  a  sweet,  trembling  voice,  in  which  one  could  hear  the  soul  : 
"  God  protect  you  all !  " 

"  Thanks,  dear  boy,"  I  said  to  myself ;  "  may  God  bless 
you  with  every  good  thing,  may  your  mother  never  die,  may 
you  enjoy  every  day  of  your  life  some  happiness  like  that 
which  touches  my  soul  this  evening.  Farewell,  farewell !  " 

Little  by  little  all  the  boys  turned  homeward,  first  the  small- 


THE  SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT,  71 

est  and  most  timid,  then  the  largest ;  and  over  the  regiment  fell 
a  deep  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sound  of  weary,  dragging 
steps  and  the  monotonous  tic-tac  of  the  points  of  the  bayonets 
against  the  ends  of  the  poniards.  We  began  to  doze  and  stag- 
gered here  and  there  like  drunken  men  who  are  walking  arm  in 
arm,  I  dozing  and  staggering  more  than  all  the  rest. 

Suddenly  I  felt  some  one  touch  my  arm  ;  I  turned  ;  it  was  a 
boy.  "  Who  are  you  ? "  I  asked,  stopping,  in  a  very  sleepy 
voice.  He  hesitated  to  reply,  because  he  was  dozing  too. 
"  Carluccio,"  he  then  said,  in  a  low  and  trembling  voice. 
"Where  do  you  come  from?"  "From  Padua."  "Where  do 
want  to  go  ? "  "  With  the  soldiers."  "  With  the  soldiers  !  And 
do  you  know  where  the  soldiers  are  going  ? " 

He  did  not  reply  ;  so  I  began  again  :  "  Return  home,  go 
home,  you  have  got  too  far  away.  Who  knows  how  anxious 
your  father  and  mother  may  be  about  you  at  this  hour.  Take 
my  advice  and  go  home."  He  neither  replied  nor  moved. 
"Won't  you  go  back?"  "No."  "Why  not?"  He  did  not 
answer.  "Are  you  sleepy  ?  "  "A  little."  ..."  Here,  give 
me  your  hand,  then." 

I  took  him  by  the  hand,  rejoined  my  company,  which  had 
got  quite  a  distance  ahead,  and,  thinking  that  to  send  him  back 
to  his  home  and  make  him  go  all  the  way  alone  at  night  would  ex- 
pose him  to  some  great  fright,  I  decided  to  take  him  with  me 
to  the  station.  When  we  reached  the  station  I  knew  I  could 
find  some  means  of  sending  him  back. 

"  We  have  a  recruit,"  I  said  to  one  of  my  comrades,  as  I 
passed  him.  He  approached  me,  and  after  him  several  others 
who  had  heard  my  words,  and  while  they  all  were  gathering 
about  the  boy,  and  asking  me  who  he  was  and  where  I  had 


72  MILITARY  LIFE. 

found  him,  we  heard  a  blast  of  the  trumpet  and  the  regiment 
stopped.  While  the  ranks  broke  up  and  the  soldiers  threw 
themselves  down,  I,  dragging  behind  me  the  little  fugitive,  en- 
tered a  field  on  the  right  of  the  road,  and  the  others  followed 
me.  About  ten  paces  from  the  ditch  we  stopped  ;  a  soldier  with 
a  lantern  came  up  ;  we  gathered  around  the  boy,  and  throwing 
the  light  on  to  his  face,  bent  down  to  look  at  him.  He  was 
beautiful,  but  pale  and  exhausted,  and  had  in  his  eyes — two 
beautiful,  great  dark  eyes — a  very  strange  expression  of  sad- 
ness for  a  child  of  his  age,  as  he  could  not  be  more  than 
twelve.  His  old,  worn,  and  ill-fitting  garments  were  a  strong 
contrast  to  his  delicate  and  gentle  appearance.  He  wore  an 
old  straw  hat  to  which  a  great  portion  of  the  brim  was  lack- 
ing, a  blue  handkerchief  around  his  neck,  a  fustian  jacket  large 
enough  for  a  man,  a  pair  of  trousers  that  only  reached  his 
ankles,  and  two  old  shoes  laced  with  twine.  But  he  was  neat 
and  not  ragged  ;  he  had  his  handkerchief  knotted  with  a  certain 
grace  ;  his  hair  arranged  ;  and  face,  hands,  and  shirt  quite  clean. 
He  looked  first  in  the  face  of  one  and  the  other  with  wide- 
stretched,  motionless  eyes. 

"-But  don't  you  know  that  you  are  alone  ? "  I  asked. 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly  without  replying. 

"  All  the  other  boys  have  gone  back,"  said  one  of  my  friends, 
"  and  why  did  n't  you  go  back  with  them  ? " 

Then  another  :  "  What  do  you  wish  to  do  here  with  us  ? 
Where  do  you  wish  to  go  ?  " 

He  looked  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other,  with  his  eyes 
always  wide-stretched  ;  then  dropped  them  and  was  silent. 

"  Speak  up,  now  ;  say  something,"  said  one  of  us,  shaking 
him  lightly  by  the  shoulder  ;  "  have  you  lost  your  tongue  ? " 


THE   SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  73 

But  he  never  opened  his  mouth,  and  kept  his  eyes  fastened 
on  the  ground,  so  obstinate  and  immovable  that  it  was  really 
provoking.  I  made  another  attempt :  I  took  his  chin  between 
my  forefinger  and  thumb,  and,  raising  his  head  gently,  asked  : 

"  What  will  your  mother  say  when  she  sees  that  you  do  not 
return  ? " 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  me,  no  longer  with  that 
astonished,  almost  stupid  expression  that  he  had  worn  before, 
but  with  brows  knitted  and  his  mouth  open,  as  if  only  at  this 
point  he  had  begun  to  understand  our  words,  and  were  waiting 
for  us  to  interrogate  him  and  make  him  tell  what  he  had  not 
had  the  courage  to  say. 

"  Why  did  you  run  away  from  home  ? " 

He  was  silent  a  moment  after  that  question,  and  then  burst 
out  crying,  and  between  his  sobs  he  murmured  : 

"  They— beat  me  !  " 

"  Oh,  poor  boy  !  "  we  all  exclaimed,  putting  our  hands  on  his 
head  and  shoulders,  and  patting  his  cheeks  and  chin.  "  And 
who  is  it  that  beats  you  ?  " 

"My— mother." 

"  Your  mother  ?  "  we  all  asked  at  once,  with  astonishment 
"  How  's  that  ? " 

"  But — she  is  not — my  own  mother."  Here  the  poor  boy, 
after  being  urged,  told  us  that  his  father  had  been  dead  for 
some  time  ;  that  he  had  no  one  left  but  his  step-mother,  who 
only  loved  her  own  children  and  could  not  bear  him  ;  and  that 
as  he  had  been  suffering  for  some  time,  he  had  run  away  from 
home  with  us.  He  had  not  finished  speaking,  when  we  began 
to  pet  and  comfort  him.  "  You  shall  come  with  us,  good  boy  ; 
don't  worry  about  any  thing.  You  will  have  as  many  fathers 


74  MILITARY  LIFE. 

as  there  are  officers,  and  as  many  brothers  as  there  are  soldiers. 
Don't  be  anxious."  Then  wishing  to  quiet  him  and  make  him 
smile,  I  said  :  "  And  if  any  one  asks  you  whose  son  you  are  and 
where  you  have  come  from,  you  must  answer  that  you  are  the  son 
of  the  regiment,  and  that  we  found  you  in  the  folds  of  our 
flag  ;  do  you  understand  ? " 

He  smiled  slightly,  and  made  a  sign  in  the  affirmative. 

"  And  meanwhile,"  I  continued,  "  as  soon  as  we  start,  you 
shall  come  with  me  or  with  some  one  of  us,  and  keep  beside  us, 
and  walk  as  long  as  your  legs  will  permit ;  then  when  you  are 
tired,  you  are  to  say  so,  do  you  understand  ?  and  we  will  put 
you  in  a  wagon." 

Poor  Carluccio,  who  could  not  comprehend  so  many  demon- 
strations of  kindness  and  feared  he  was  dreaming,  made  a  sign 
in  the  affirmative  by  bowing  and  raising  his  head  and  looking 
at  us  with  his  eyes  full  of  surprise. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now  ?  Are  you  tired  ?  Are  you  thirsty  ?  Do 
you  want  something  to  eat  ?  Do  you  wish  a  little  coffee,  or  a 
little  rosolio  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  am  not  thirsty";  and  he  tried  to  push 
back  the  flask  of  rosolio  which  an  officer  held  out  to  him. 

"  Drink,  drink,  it  will  do  you  good  and  make  you  strong  ; 
drink." 

"  Do  you  want  something  to  eat  ?  There  is  nothing  but 
bread  just  now. — Oh  !  lantern  there,  give  us  a  piece  of  bread  !  " 

The  soldier  holding  the  lantern  drew  quickly  from  his  pocket 
a  bit  of  bread  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  am  not  hungry." 

"  Eat,  eat ;  you  have  been  walking  for  a  long  time,  and 
ought  to  refresh  your  stomach." 


THE   SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  ?$ 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  seized  the  bread  with  both 
hands,  and  bit  into  it  with  the  avidity  of  a  hungry  animal. 

At  that  moment  we  heard  the  sound  of  the  trumpet,  and 
put  ourselves  en  route.  After  a  little  more  than  a  half  hour 
Carluccio  was  overcome  with  sleep.  I  took  him  by  the  hand 
and  led  him  to  the  rear  of  the  column,  where,  after  exchang- 
ing a  few  words  with  the  commissary,  I  had  him  placed  in  the 
wagon,  while  he  kept  saying  :  "  I  am  not  really  sleepy.  .  .  . 
I  am  not  really  sleepy."  And  off  he  dropped  into  a  sound 
slumber,  murmuring  that  he  did  not  need  any  sleep,  and  that 
he  wished  to  march.  An  hour  afterward  the  regiment  stopped 
again  for  some  moments.  Hardly  had  the  trumpet  sounded, 
when  the  soldiers  of  the  last  company,  who  had  seen  me  take 
Carluccio  to  the  commissary,  ran  and  gathered  about  the 
wagon.  One  of  them  took  the  lantern  from  his  musket  and 
put  it  at  the  boy's  face,  then  they  all  bent  over  to  look  at  him. 
He  continued  to  sleep  peacefully,  his  head  resting  on  a  bag  of 
bread,  and  his  eyes  still  red,  and  his  cheeks  wet  with  tears. 
"  What  a  beautiful  little  rascal  ! "  said  a  soldier,  sotto  voce. 
"  How  well  he  is  sleeping  !  "  murmured  another.  A  third 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  pinched  his  cheek  with  two  of 
his  fingers.  "  Down  with  that  hand  !  "  shouted  the  corporal, 
and  all  the  others  cried  out :  "  Leave  him  alone  !  Let  him 
sleep  !  "  Carluccio  waked  at  that  moment,  and  seeing  himself 
surrounded  by  the  soldiers,  was  a  trifle  frightened,  but  was 
instantly  reassured  and  smiled. 

"Whose  son  are  you  ? "  asked  one  of  the  soldiers. 

Carluccio  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then,  remembering 
my  advice,  he  replied  seriously :  "  I  am  the  son  of  the  regi- 
ment." 


76  MILITARY  LIFE. 

All  the  soldiers  began  to  laugh.  "  Who  brought  you  to  us  ? 
Where  did  they  find  you  ?  " 

The  boy  replied  with  the  greatest  gravity  :  "  They  found  me 
in  the  folds  of  the  flag  !  " 

The  soldiers  burst  out  laughing  again.  "  Your  hand  here, 
comrade  !  "  shouted  the  corporal,  extending  his  hand.  Car- 
luccio  put  out  his  and  clasped  it.  "  Give  it  to  me  too," 
said  another  soldier,  and  Carluccio  pressed  his  also.  Then 
every  one  followed  suit,  and  the  boy  shook  hands  with  them 
all.  The  last  one  said  aloud  :  "  We  are  firm  friends,  are  we 
not,  child  ? "  and  he  replied  :  "  Yes,  firm  friends."  At  that 
moment  the  trumpet  sounded,  and  the  soldiers  moved  off  laugh- 
ing, and  I,  appearing  suddenly  before  Carluccio,  asked  him  : 
"Well,  what  have  you  to  tell  me  ?"  He  looked  at  me,  and 
replied  smilingly,  in  a  tone  of  perfect  content  :  "  The  soldiers 

like  me." 

IV. 

We  arrived  in  camp  about  midnight  ;  I  do  not  remember 
how  many  miles  we  made  from  Padua  up,  nor  at  what  point 
we  pitched  the  tents.  There  must  have  been  some  village 
near  the  camp  ;  but  there  was  not  the  top  of  a  steeple  to  be 
seen  in  any  direction.  The  sky,  which  had  been  dark  and 
cloudy  so  that  we  could  not  see  the  stars,  had  become  clear.  The 
field  where  the  regiment  was  to  encamp  was  all  lighted  by  the 
moon,  and  surrounded  by  great  thick  trees,  which  cast  a  dense 
shade  all  around.  It  was  a  spot  full  of  dark,  gloomy  beauty, 
and  in  it  reigned  a  profound  quiet ;  so  struck  were  we  by  it, 
that  we  all  entered  the  camp  without  speaking,  and  drew 
up  in  line  in  silence,  looking  with  amazement  here  and  there, 
as  if  we  were  in  an  enchanted  garden. 


THE  SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  fj 

In  a  short  time  the  camp  was  in  order,  the  wagons  were 
taken  to  their  places,  the  sentinels  given  their  posts  ;  the 
companies  were  re-arranged  without  arms,  among  their  own 
tents ;  and  the  sixteen  orderly-sergeants  began  the  roll 
call,  each  one  standing  in  front  of  his  company,  with  the 
officers  on  one  side,  and  a  soldier  with  a  lantern  on  the 
other  to  light  up  the  record  book.  Meanwhile  Carluccio, 
led  back  to  me  by  the  commissary,  had  run  to  hide  him- 
self between  two  tents,  and  stood  there  frightened  and  as- 
tonished, contemplating  the  beautiful  spectacle  of  the  camp 
lighted  up  by  the  moon.  That  multitude  of  tents  gleaming 
in  long  rows  until  they  were  lost  to  sight  among  the  trees  ; 
those  five  hundred  stacks  of  glistening  bayonets;  all  those 
people ;  and  the  intense  quiet,  the  monotonous  voices  of  the 
orderly-sergeants  growing  gradually  fainter,  from  the  com- 
pany near  by  to  the  one  farthest  away,  where  the  lantern 
hardly  appeared  as  large  as  a  fire-fly  ;  and  then  the  gradual 
cessation  of  those  voices,  and  the  mysterious  silence  ;  and, 
at  a  stroke  of  the  drum,  the  sudden  breaking  up  of  the 
lines  and  the  noisy  scattering  ;  and  under  the  tents,  in  the 
darkness,  that  confused  shouting  and  hurried  preparation  of 
the  beds  with  cloaks,  covers,  and  knapsacks,  until  little  by 
little,  throughout  that  immense  camp  quiet  is  re-established, 
and  an  unseen  bugle  imposes  silence  with  its  lamenting 
blasts  .  .  .  it  is  a  spectacle  that  moves  one.  And  it  would 
have  been  much  more  impressive  if  any  one  could  have  seen 
inside  those  tents.  How  many  tapers  were  secretly  lighted 
between  two  knapsacks,  beside  a  piece  of  crushed  letter-paper, 
before  a  face  in  which  appear  from  time  to  time  the  fatigue  of 
the  long  march  and  the  fear  of  the  officer  of  the  guard — 


78  MILITARY  LIFE. 

God  forbid  that  he  should  notice  the  light — and  the  painful 
struggle  between  the  affection  which  breaks  out  impatiently 
and  the  word  that  one  cannot  express  !  That  is  the  place 
and  the  hour  for  melancholy  recollections.  There,  under 
those  tents,  when  silence  reigns  all  around,  there  the  images 
of  distant  relations  and  friends  from  home  crowd  in,  images 
so  life-like  and  speaking ;  and  dear,  above  all  others,  are 
those  of  the  mothers  who  come  to  arrange  the  knapsack  un- 
der their  sons'  heads  praying  down  in  their  hearts  :  "  God 
grant  that  this  be  not  his  last  sleep  ! "  Who  has  not  shed 
tears  at  night  under  the  tent  in  that  hour? 

When  all  the  regiment  had  gone  to  sleep,  I  called  Car- 
luccio,  and  took  him  under  the  officers'  tent  of  my  company, 
where  the  other  two  subaltern  officers  had  preceded  me  (the 
captain  was  ill), — two  of  those  young  fellows,  full  of  heart, 
who  under  the  appearance  of  an  ordinary  and  gentle  char- 
acter hide  a  soul  capable  of  great  things  ;  two  of  those  brave 
soldiers  who,  unknown  or  undistinguished  among  the  many  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  life,  suddenly  spring  up  giant-like  on 
the  field  of  battle,  show  themselves  heroes,  and  make  peo- 
ple say  :  "  Who  would  ever  have  thought  it !  "  ;  young  men 
who  love  a  soldier's  life  for  this  reason,  that  when  occasion 
demands  it  they  can  sacrifice  it  to  a  good  end. 

The  tent  was  lighted  by  a  candle  stuck  in  the  ground, 
and  my  two  friends  were  seated  one  here  and  one  there, 
with  their  legs  crossed  over  a  stratum  of  straw  that  our  or- 
derlies had  hurriedly  gathered,  during  a  scamper,  from  the 
field.  Hardly  had  we  entered  when  we  too  sat  down  and 
began  to  chat. 

Carluccio  kept  his  eyes  down,  and  scarcely  dared  raise  them 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  79 

to  our  faces  for  a  moment  when  he  was  questioned.  His  eyes 
were  still  swollen  and  red  from  his  severe  fit  of  weeping  ;  his 
voice  trembled  ;  and  he  did  not  know  how  to  move  or  where  to 
hold  his  hands,  so  embarrassed  and  confused  was  he.  By  dint 
of  questioning  him  and  urging  him  to  talk,  we  succeeded  in 
loosening  his  tongue  and  drawing  from  him  some  more  par- 
ticulars about  his  family.  Then  little  by  little  he  took  courage 
and  warmed  in  his  narration,  comforted  by  the  signs  of  assent, 
and  compassion  that  we  constantly  gave  to  his  words. 

"  She  is  not  my  true  mother,"  he  said;  "that  is  why  she 
does  not  love  me.  The  other  was  my  true  mother,  and  is  dead, 
but  she  loved  me  very  much  ;  the  one  I  have  now  ...  is 
the  same  as  if  I  were  not  in  the  house  ;  she  gives  me  food  to 
eat  and  a  place  to  sleep,  but  never  looks  at  me — as  if  I  had 
done  something  wrong  ;  and  I  don't  do  any  one  any  harm  ; 
every  one  can  say  that.  .  .  .  The  neighbors  in  the  house 
all  like  me  better  than  she.  .  .  .  The  other  two  boys  are 
smaller  than  I,  and  there  is  no  danger  of  her  making  them 
cry  !  Then  she  never  took  me  to  walk  with  the  other  two. 
They  are  always  well  dressed,  while  I  seem  like  a  beggar. 

.  .  .  Sometimes  she  left  me  shut  up  in  the  house,  all 
alone,  those  Sunday  evenings  when  you .  see  so  many  people 
pass  in  the  street,  and  I  stayed  at  the  window  waiting  for 
them  to  return,  but  they  never  came  back,  and  I  used  to  go 
to  sleep  with  my  head  on  the  window.  Then  when  they  did 
return  she  scolded  me  ;  I  had  been  shut  up  alone  in  the 
house,  and  they  had  gone  to  the  theatre  or  cafe,  and  the 
other  two  boys  came  and  whispered  in  my  ear  :  '  We  went, 
and  you  did  not '  ;  then  they  made  gestures  to  provoke  me, 
and  if  I  cried,  they  laughed  at  me,  and  mother  never  said 


80  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

any  thing.  These  things  made  me  unhappy,  because  I  had 
never  done  any  thing  to  them,  and  every  time  either  of  them 
teased  me,  and  I  wanted  to  do  something,  I  always  controlled 
myself  and  had  patience.  There  were  times  when  they  had 
finished  eating,  that  mother  made  me  carry  away  the  dishes, 
and  while  I  carried  them  the  boys  said  :  '  Scullion  ! '  Oh, 
heavens  !  if  they  had  given  me  a  blow  on  the  head  I  should 
not  have  felt  it  as  much  as  I  did  those  words.  .  .  .  Once, 
the  evening  of  a  fete  day,  she  returned  home  late,  and  her  face 
was  all  red,  her  eyes  shining  ;  she  talked  and  laughed  loudly  with 
the  other. two,  and  they  all  began  supper,  and  mother  drank  an 
entire  bottle  of  wine.  After  they  had  finished  she  called  me, 
put  all  the  dishes  in  my  hands,  and  said  :  '  Here,  carry  these 
away  ;  that  's  your  duty  '  ;  she  gave  me  a  kick,  and  all  three 
began  to  laugh.  I  said  nothing  ;  but  when  I  was  in  the  kitchen 
I  put  down  the  dishes,  threw  myself  on  a  chair,  and  began  weep- 
ing bitterly  in  the  dark  until  they  went  to  bed.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  Giovannina,  a  young  dressmaker  who  lived  near  us 
arid  was  kind  to  me,  I  should  have  always  been  entirely  in 
rags.  ..." 

I  then  asked  how  he  came  to  think  of  running  away. 

"At  the  beginning,"  he  replied,  "  I  wanted  to  go  off  with  a 
company  of  jugglers,  those  who  play  tricks,  and  when  they  find 
boys  whom  no  one  wants,  they  take  them  with  them  ;  but  then  I 
was  told  that  there  were  tricks  for  which,  if  they  wished  to  be- 
come jugglers,  they  must  have  their  bones  dislocated  at  the  shoul- 
ders, and  this  must  be  done  when  they  are  small,  so  as  I  was 
big,  I  did  not  run  away.  Mother  continued  to  ill-treat  me, 
and  gave  me  little  to  eat.  But  one  fine  day  the  Italian  soldiers 
began  to  pass,  and  all  the  people  welcomed  them  warmly,  and 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  8 1 

the  boys  accompanied  them  outside  the  city,  and  there  were 
some  who  went  many  miles  with  them.  In  fact,  I  heard  that 
two  or  three  had  run  away  from  home,  and  then  came  back 
saying  they  had  eaten  the  soldiers'  bread  and  slept  under 
their  tents.  I  instantly  thought  I  would  run  away.  I  tried 
two  or  three  times  ;  but  when  it  began  to  grow  dark,  I  got 
frightened  and  went  home.  But  yesterday  morning  my  mother 
beat  me  with  a  stick  and  hurt  me  very  much  ;  here  are  the 
marks  on  my  hands,  and  then  she  struck  me  in  the  face,  and  all 
because  I  had  said  :  '  May  you  burst !  '  to  one  of  the  boys  who 
was  making  fun  of  my  boots,  saying  they  looked  like  boats. 
They  did  not  even  give  me  a  piece  of  bread,  and  then  in  the 
evening  they  left  me  alone  in  the  house.  I  stood  at  the  win- 
dow with  tears  in  my  eyes,  and  was  really  desperate,  when 
suddenly  I  heard  the  band  play  ;  I  instantly  left  the  house, 
and  as  soon  as  I  saw  that  they  were  the  soldiers  of  the  king 
who  has  come  to  liberate  us,  I  threw  myself  into  their  midst, 
and  I  have  not  left  them.  .  .  .  Then  you  spoke  to  me  (and 
he  looked  at  me).  Then  they  told  me  not  to  be  afraid  ;  they 
gave  me  something  to  eat — I  was  so  hungry  ! — and  told  me 
they  would  keep  me  with  them.  .  .  .  But  I  don't  wish  to 
stay  here  and  eat  my  bread  like  a  beggar.  I  want  to  work. 
.  .  .  I  will  brush  your  clothes  (and  he  touched  my  jacket). 
I  will  bring  water  to  drink  and  get  straw  for  the  officers  to 
sleep  on.  .  .  ." 

At  this  point  one  of  my  friends  cut  him  short  by  taking  his 
head  between  his  two  hands,  and  pressing  it  to  his  breast  with 
all  the  pity  and  love  of  a  father. 


82  MILITARY  LIFE. 

V. 

Toward  daybreak,  before  the  bugle  sounded  the  reveille,  we 
were  waked  by  the  sound  of  a  heavy  rain  and  a  violent  clap  of 
thunder.  I  was  the  first  to  put  my  head  out  of  the  tent.  Not 
a  soul  was  to  be  seen  in  the  camp,  except  the  sentinels  ;  but 
almost  all  the  soldiers  were  awake.  In  fact,  at  every  flash 
there  came  from  all  sides  of  the  encampment  a  sharp  b-r-r-r, 
such  as  the  puppet-man  makes  to  announce  the  appearance  or 
disappearance  of  the  devil  ;  and  at  every  clap  of  thunder  there 
was  a  noisy  and  prolonged  shout  in  imitation  of  the  burst.  A 
short  time  thereafter  the  reveille  was  sounded,  and  the  captain 
of  the  guard  called  the  officer  of  the  week  to  announce  that  we 
were  to  continue  our  march  in  three  hours.  The  announce- 
ment set  me  instantly  thinking  of  Carluccio.  I  had  not  yet 
asked  myself  what  was  to  become  of  the  boy  in  the  end.  The 
son  of  the  regiment !  Beautiful  words,  quickly  said  ;  but  had 
we  the  right  to  keep  him  from  home  ?  Who  would  shoulder 
this  responsibility  ?  I  spoke  of  this  to  my  friends,  and  they 
all  agreed  that  it  was  necessary  to  provide  for  the  return  of 
Carluccio,  by  writing  to  the  Syndic  of  Padua  and  having  re- 
course to  the  authorities  of  the  neighboring  village.  It  was  a 
most  displeasing  decision,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done.  The  duty  of  writing  to  Padua  I  assumed  myself,  and  I 
did  so  ;  but  the  other  duty  of  taking  Carluccio  to  the  village  and 
giving  him  into  the  care  of  the  authorities  I  would  not  under- 
take. f<  Let  the  others  think  of  that,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  I 
have  done  my  part,"  and  I  begged  one  of  my  friends  to  assume 
the  rest  of  the  responsibility  "What  have  I  to  do  with  it?" 
one  after  the  other  replied.  "  And  I  ? "  I  asked  in  my  turn. 


THE  SO.V  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  83 

"  Well,  neither  of  us  have  any  thing  to  do  with  it,"  and  the 
dialogue  ended  thus.  I  returned  to  the  tent  quite  annoyed, 
called  Carluccio,  and  said  to  him  : 

"You  must  come  as  far  as  the  village  with  me,  it  is  only  a 
few  steps  away." 

A  suspicion  crossed  his  mind  ;  he  became  serious  and  looked 
fixedly  at  me.  I  had  not  known  how  to  dissimulate  my  de- 
sign by  voice  or  face  ;  I  turned  the  other  way,  and  pretended  to 
look  for  something  in  my  travelling-case. 

11  You  want  to  send  me  home  !  "  he  cried  suddenly  ;  then 
broke  out  into  a  violent  fit  of  weeping,  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  at  my  feet,  and  now  clasping  his  hands,  now  seizing  my 
jacket,  began  to  say,  with  all  his  strength  :  "  Oh,  no — no,  Mr. 
Officer,  don't  send  me  home,  for  pity  sake,  for  pity  sake.  I 
cannot  go  home,  I  would  rather  die  first ;  keep  me  here,  to  do 
any  thing  you  wish.  I  '11  do  every  thing,  and  look  after  my 
own  food.  .  .  .  For  mercy  sake,  Mr.  Officer,  don't  make 
me  go  home  !  " 

I  felt  my  heart  breaking.  I  controlled  myself  for  a  moment, 
and  then  said  :  "  No,  don't  worry,  Carluccio  ;  don't  cry  or  be 
afraid.  We  won't  send  you  home  ;  you  shall  always  stay  with  us. 
We  will  always  love  you.  ...  I  promise  you  that,  rest  as- 
sured of  it ;  dry  your  eyes  and  we  won't  say  any  thing  more 
about  it." 

Then  Carluccio  grew  quiet. 

"  I  was  not  born  for  great  undertakings,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I 
left  the  tent ;  "  there  is  nothing  else  to  do  but  wait  for  the  reply 
from  Padua — and  then  .  .  .  then  we  will  see  what  is  to 
be  done." 


84  MILITARY  LIFE. 

VI. 

Two  days  later  we  encamped  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mestre, 
where  we  remained  for  nearly  a  month,  until  the  termination  of 
the  last  armistice,  that  is  to  say,  until  we  returned  back  toward 
Ferrara. 

No  reply  came  at  any  time  from  Padua,  and  Carluccio  re- 
mained on  with  the  regiment. 

From  the  very  first  day  we  thought  of  renewing  his  ward- 
robe, because  his  clothes,  already  worn  out,  had  been  so  spoiled 
during  the  first  march  that  they  were  literally  falling  in  pieces. 
We  gave  him  a  straw  hat,  a  jacket,  a  pair  of  linen  trousers,  a 
beautiful  red  cravat,  and  two  little  shoes  that  fitted  his  small 
feet.  Oh,  how  contented  the  poor  boy  was  !  When  we  pre- 
sented him  with  all  these  things,  he  did  not  seem  able  to  be- 
lieve his  eyes  ;  he  turned  red,  twisted  his  head  the  other  way, 
almost  fancied  they  were  playing  a  joke  on  him,  tried  to  push 
back  the  unhoped-for  gift  with  his  elbows  several  times,  and 
kept  his  chin  down  on  his  breast.  But  when  he  saw  that  we 
began  to  grow  angry  at  his  obstinate  incredulity,  and  pretended 
to  move  off,  saying :  "  We  '11  dress  another  boy,"  he  took  a 
step  toward  us,  made  a  motion  with  his  hand  for  us  to  stop, 
and  exclaimed  in  a  tear-choked  voice  :  "  No  !  no  !  "  but  he  was 
instantly  ashamed  of  that  prayer,  bowed  his  head  again,  and 
stood  motionless  with  his  eyes  lowered  and  full  of  tears.  When 
he  had  his  clothes  on,  he  was  so  much  embarrassed  that  he  did 
not  know  how  to  walk,  act,  or  speak. 

"  Cospetto,  Carluccio  ! "  the  soldiers  said  to  him  as  they 
made  way  for  him  to  pass  furtively  into  their  midst  :  "  cos- 
Petto  \  what  luxury  !  "  and  he  blushed  and  ran  away. 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  8$ 

But  at  the  end  of  little  more  than  a  week  he  became  as  quick 
and  full  of  life  as  a  drummer ;  he  was  the  friend  of  all  the  sol- 
diers in  our  company,  of  a  great  portion  of  the  soldiers  in  the 
others,  and  of  all  the  officers  in  the  regiment.  Then  he  began 
to  lead  a  life  both  busy  and  useful  to  himself  and  others.  He 
slept  in  our  tent.  In  the  morning  at  the  first  roll  of  the  drum 
he  was  on  his  feet  and  disappeared.  We  were  not  well  awake 
when  he  had  returned  from  the  kitchen  of  our  battalion  with 
coffee,  rum,  or  rosolio,  and  "Mr.  Officer,"  he  said  in  a  respect- 
ful voice,  "  it  is  time  •  .  .  ."  "Time  for  what  ?  "  we  mut- 
tered in  a  sharp,  rough  voice,  rubbing  our  eyes.  "  Time  for 
you  to  get  up."  "  Ah  !  it  's  you,  is  it,  Carluccio  ?  Give  your 
hand,"  and  we  gave  him  a  squeeze  of  the  hand  that  put  him  in 
good-humor  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

He  disputed  the  work  with  our  orderlies  ;  wished  to  brush 
our  clothes  ;  polish  our  buttons,  swords,  and  boots  ;  wash  shirts 
and  handkerchiefs ;  he  wished  to  do  every  thing  himself,  and 
he  humbly  begged  first  one  soldier  and  then  the  other  to  give 
him  something  to  do,  that  he  would  do  it  so  gladly,  and  try 
his  utmost  to  do  it  well,  and  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
learn  it  at  any  cost.  Sometimes  we  were  obliged  to  take  things 
out  of  his  hands,  and  say  to  him  with  some  severity  :  "  Do 
what  I  tell  you  to  do,  and  nothing  more."  And  really  we 
were  forced  to  be  very  severe,  because  we  could  not  allow  him 
to  play  the  servant  to  us.  Why,  poor  boy  ?  Had  we  brought 
him  with  us  for  this  sole  purpose  ?  He  was  afraid  that  gradu- 
ally we  should  grow  tired  of  him,  although  we  did  nothing  but 
overwhelm  him  with  caresses,  and  surround  him  with  care  and 
courtesy.  It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  did  not  work  we  should 
think  him  a  useless  appendage  in  the  end,  and  for  this  reason 


86  MILITARY  LIFE. 

he  tried  to  show  us  that  he  was  good  for  something,  or  that,  if 
for  nothing  else,  good-will  was  not  lacking  on  his  part.  He 
was  even  assailed  and  worried  by  the  fear  that  he  should  seem 
to  us  importunate.  From  time  to  time,  while  eating  with  us, 
seated  on  the  ground  around  a  tablecloth  stretched  on  the 
grass,  becoming  suddenly  aware  that  he  was  being  watched, 
he  was  ashamed  to  eat,  turned  scarlet,  dropped  his  eyes,  took 
small  mouthfuls,  and  if  we  did  not  fill  his  glass  he  would  not 
dare  do  it,  remaining  with  his  mouth  quite  dry  during  the  en- 
tire meal.  Sometimes,  in  the  tent,  while  we  were  dropping 
asleep,  he  would  suddenly  be  ashamed  that  he  occupied  so 
much  space,  and  would  sit  up  and  spread  the  straw  here  and 
there  toward  our  places,  reserving  only  a  small  portion  for  him- 
self, then  lie  down  all  curled  up  in  a  bunch  against  the  linen  of 
the  tent,  at  the  risk  of  catching  some  severe  cold  on  account 
of  the  draught.  Not  one  of  his  acts  escaped  me,  not  one  of 
his  thoughts  either,  and  I  always  tried  to  dispel  his  shame, 
either  by  addressing  him  gaily  :  "  Well,  Carluccio  ? "  or  by 
pinching  his  cheeks  in  a  way  that  signifies  :  "  Have  no  fear,  I 
am  protecting  you,"  and  he  instantly  became  reassured.  Oh, 
what  a  tender  pity  his  delicate  sense  of  shame  aroused  within 
me  !  "  Poor  Carluccio,"  I  thought,  when,  the  light  still  burn- 
ing in  the  tent,  I  saw  him  quietly  sleeping,  all  wrapped  up  in 
my  cloak,  and  his  face  half-hidden  under  a  soldier's  cap  ; 
"poor  Carluccio  !  why  have  you  no  longer  a  mother?  You. 
thought  yourself  alone  on  earth,  and  did  not  imagine  that  any 
one  could  care  for  you  !  No,  Carluccio,  for  boys  without 
father  and  mother  there  are  the  soldiers  ;  they  have  only  a 
piece  of  bread  in  their  pockets  ;  but  as  an  offset  they  have 
plenty  of  affection  in  their  hearts,  and  dispense  both  freely  to 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  87 

any  one  in  need.  Sleep  quietly,  Carluccio,  and  dream  of  your 
mother  ;  be  assured  that  she  is  looking  down  upon  you,  and  is 
content  that  you  are  among  us,  because  she  knows  that  under 
our  rough  cloaks  beat  hearts  that  resemble  her  own." 

He  was  always  busy  during  the  day.  He  went  out  of  the 
camp  to  fetch  water  for  the  soldiers  when  they  were  prohibited 
from  leaving ;  and  one  could  see  him  moving  around  among 
the  tents  laden  with  flasks  and  bowls,  quite  red  in  the  face 
and  dripping  with  perspiration,  accompanied  by  a  crowd  of 
thirsty  men  who  pressed  around  him,  importuning  him  in 
this  wise  :  "  Carluccio,  my  canteen  "  ;  "  my  flask,  Carluccio  !" 
"  I  want  mine  first  "  ;  "  no,  mine  "  ;  "I  gave  you  mine  before 
he  did,"  etc.,  etc.  And  making  signs  for  them  to  keep  quiet, 
or  pushing  them  back  :  "  One  at  a  time,  like  good  fellows." 
"  Be  kind  enough  to  move  off  a  little,  and  let  me  breathe."  Then 
he  would  wipe  his  brow  and  take  breath,  for  he  was  really  so  ex- 
hausted that  he  could  do  nothing  more.  From  time  to  time 
some  soldier  hunted  him  up  to  have  a  letter  written  home,  or 
to  have  him  read  and  explain  one  received.  He  always  did  this 
favor  with  much  gravity.  He  would  be  quite  pensive  for  a 
moment,  and  then  say,  gravely  :  "  Let  us  see."  They  seated 
themselves  in  the  tent,  and  with  the  forefinger  stretched  toward 
the  sheet  already  written,  or  to  be  written  ;  finally,  Carluccio, 
turning  up  his  jacket  sleeves,  knitting  his  brows,  would  set  to 
work,  pursing  up  his  lips,  and  uttering  an  inarticulate  sound  that 
signified  :  "  It  is  a  serious  affair,  but  I  will  do  what  I  can." 

He  would  assist  first  one  and  then  the  other  in  arranging 
the  tents,  and  he  had  such  taste  in  drawing  the  cords  and 
fastening  the  poles  in  the  ground  that  one  would  have  fancied 
he  had  done  nothing  else  all  his  life. 


88  MILITARY  LIFE. 

When  the  men  were  drilling  he  would  withdraw  to  a  corner 
of  the  camp,  and  from  thence  would  watch  in  ecstacy  all  the 
time  the  drill  lasted.  When  all  the  regiment  was  drawn  up 
and  handling  their  arms,  the  poor  boy  was  greatly  excited. 
That  striking  on  the  ground  of  one  thousand  five  hundred 
muskets,  in  one  blow,  like  a  single  musket ;  that  long  and  sharp 
rattle  of  the  thousand  five  hundred  fixed  bayonets,  removed, 
replaced,  and  sheathed  in  a  moment ;  that  powerful  tone  of 
command,  and  the  profound  silence  of  the  lines,  and  all  those 
faces  motionless  and  intent  as  statues  ;  the  sight  of  those  new 
things  fired  his  enthusiasm,  filled  him  with  restlessness,  a  desire 
to  shout,  run,  and  jump  ;  but  he  never  did  this  until  after  the 
regiment  had  broken  ranks,  out  of  respect  for  it.  At  first 
he  contented  himself  with  assuming  heroic  attitudes,  and  look- 
ing at  us  with  his  head  raised  and  a  proud  glance,  without 
being  aware  of  it ;  reproducing  unconsciously  the  emotions 
of  his  soul,  like  some  one  who,  in  relating  us  a  story,  so  im- 
presses us  that  we  show  by  the  movements  of  our  intent  faces 
the  sense  and  effect  of  his  words. 

When  he  heard  the  band  he  seemed  quite  crazy.  The  even- 
ings when  some  one  of  us  had  to  go  to  the  outposts  he  was 
less  gay  than  usual.  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Officer  !  "  he  would 
say,  with  a  long  look,  when  we  left,  and  outside  the  tent  he 
would  watch  us  until  we  were  lost  to  sight. 

He  had  this  gentle,  affectionate  way  with  all,  officers  and 
soldiers  ;  and  thus  all  loved  him.  When  he  passed  among  the 
tents  of  any  company,  he  was  called  on  all  sides  ;  arms  were 
stretched  out  to  detain  him  ;  there  was  a  jumping  up  and  run- 
ning after  him  by  soldiers  with  letters  in  their  hands  :  "  Car- 
luccio,  a  moment,  a  word,  only  a  word."  He  gave  the  officers 


THE   SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  89 

the  military  salute,  and  with  an  expression  of  more  or  less  re- 
spect, according  to  their  grade,  which  he  had  learned  to  dis- 
tinguish from  the  very  first  day.  He  held  the  colonel  in  great 
fear.  When  he  saw  him  in  the  distance  he  took  to  his  heels  or 
hid  behind  a  tent ;  and  even  he  himself  could  give  no  reason 
for  this.  But  one  day,  while  he  was  standing  chatting  with 
two  or  three  soldiers  near  the  tent  of  an  adjutant,  be- 
hold the  colonel  suddenly  appeared.  He  trembled  from  head 
to  foot ;  there  was  no  time  to  hide  himself  ;  he  was  obliged  to 
look  at  and  salute  him  ;  he  raised  his  eyes  timidly,  and  put  his 
hand  to  his  hat.  The  colonel  looked  at  him,  placed  his  hand 
under  his  chin,  and  said  :  "  Good-by,  my  good  boy."  Car- 
luccio  went  nearly  crazy  ;  flew  instantly  to  us,  and  breathless 
and  stammering  related  this  great  adventure. 

A  strange  thing  in  a  boy  of  his  age  was  that  he  never  took 
advantage  in  the  slightest  degree  of  the  familiarity  with  which 
we  treated  him.  He  was  always  docile,  humble,  and  respect- 
ful, as  on  the  first  day  when  we  picked  him  up  on  the  road.  Of 
that  fortunate  day  he  spoke  often,  and  always  with  tears  in  his 
eyes.  He  had  his  melancholy  hours,  too,  especially  on  rainy 
days,  when  all  the  soldiers  were  gathered  under  the  tents,  and 
the  camp  was  as  silent  as  a  desert.  At  those  times  he  seated 
himself  under  the  tent  with  his  face  toward  the  open- 
ing, and  his  eyes  fastened  motionless  on  the  ground 
as  if  he  were  counting  the  drops  that  fell  inside.  "  Car- 
luccio,  of  what  are  you  thinking?"  I  asked.  "I? — Nothing." 
"  That  is  not  true,"  I  said.  "  Come  here,  poor  Carluccio, 
come  here  beside  me  ;  I  am  only  one  of  the  many  who  are 
fond  of  you  ;  but  I  love  you  for  them  all.  Come  and  sit  here 
and  we  will  talk  together,  and  away  with  all  melancholy."  He 


QO  MILITARY  LIFE. 

began  to  cry.     Yet  they  were  attacks  of  melancholy  that  van- 
ished quickly. 

VII. 

In  a  corner  of  the  camp  there  were  two  small  houses,  inhab- 
ited by  an  excellent  family  of  peasants,  in  which  were  estab- 
lished the  general  quarters  of  the  kitchens  of  all  the  officers  of 
the  four  battalions.  Fancy  the  confusion  !  There  were  six  or 
eight  soldiers,  between  cooks  and  scullions,  for  every  kitchen  ; 
and  consequently  a  continual  squabbling  between  the  former 
who  did  not  know  how  to*  do  any  thing  and  wished  to  teach 
each  other  how  to  do  every  thing  ;  a  continuous  conflict  be- 
tween the  others  who  were  vying  with  each  other  in  order  to 
become  cooks ;  an  incessant  coming  and  going  of  orderlies 
to  carry  the  dinner  to  the  officers  on  the  outposts  ;  and  peasants, 
vendors,  and  stupefied  gamins  of  the  neighborhood. 

In  one  of  the  empty  rooms  of  one  of  those  houses  Carluccio 
was  placed  when  seized  by  the  fever,  which  had  raged  for 
many  days  in  the  regiment  to  such  a  degree,  that  every  day 
from  three  to  five  and  seven  soldiers  were  taken  down  in  every 
company.  Carluccio  had  it  so  badly  that  it  was  feared  he 
would  die.  The  surgeon  of  the  regiment  took  care  of  him,  and 
all  the  rest  of  us  lent  our  assistance. 

Between  the  curtains  and  door  of  his  room  was  a  constant 
coming  and  going  of  soldiers.  They  entered  on  tiptoe  ;  ap- 
proached his  bed  quite  slowly  ;  looked  into  his  eyes,  which  he 
moved  slowly  around  and  half  closed,  or  kept  motionless  for  a 
long  time  on  the  face  of  the  persons  without  giving  sign  of  rec- 
ognition. They  called  him  by  name,  placed  their  hands  on 
his  forehead,  made  signs  to  one  another  in  order  to  express 


THE  SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  §1 

their  opinion  on  the  subject  of  the  little  invalid  ;  then  went  off 
in  silence,  stopped  in  the  door-way  to  look  back  again,  and 
went  out  shaking  their  heads  as  if  to  say  :  "  Poor  creature  !  " 

"  Carluccio,  how  are  you  ?  "  I  asked  one  day  when  he  began 
to  improve. 

"  I  am  sorry  .  .  ."  he  replied,  but  he  left  his  reply  un- 
finished. 

"  What  are  you  sorry  about  ?  " 

"  I  cannot    ..." 

"What  can't  you  do?" 

"  Do  something,"  and  he  lowered  his  eyes  and  looked  at  my 
shoes  and  trousers,  and  added :  "  The  others  do  every  thing 

M 

He  wished  to  say  that  the  orderlies  cleaned  all  our  clothes 
alone,  without  his  being  able  to  help  them. 

"  And  I  am  here,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  full  of  tears ; 
"  I  am  here  and  do  nothing — am  a  burden — I  wish 
."  Then  he  made  an  effort  to  sit  up,  but  did  not  suc- 
ceed, and  his  head  sank  back  on  his  pillow,  and  he  began  to 
cry,  murmuring :  "  If  I  could  only  black  yours  .  .  .  but  I 
cannot.  It  would  really  be  better  if  I  were  dead."  And  it 
took  all  our  efforts  to  comfort  him. 

VIII. 

Several  of  us  officers  used  to  gather  at  evening,  seating  our- 
selves near  Carluccio's  bed,  and  we  chatted  on  sometimes  un- 
til midnight.  There  often  came  to  us  the  communal  counsellor 
of  a  neighboring  village,  and  the  owner  of  the  land  which  our 
regiment  was  occupying.  They  were  two  little  men  of  middle 
age,  very  jovial,  very  corpulent,  and  very  passionate,  be  it  un- 


Q2  MILITARY  LIFE. 

derstood,  about  the  Italian  cause,  and  quite  anxious  to  make 
friends  with  the  "brave  "  officers  of  the  Italian  army, — excellent 
sort  of  people,  whose  goodness  of  heart  showed  in  their  faces, 
and  who  every  day,  before  taking  leave,  never  neglected  to  re- 
peat most  emphatically  that  with  soldiers  like  ours  the  fortress 
of  Malghera  could  be  taken  with  an  assault  of  bayonets. 
"  But  believe  us,"  we  said,  "  the  thing  is  not  as  easy  as  it 
seems  to  you  ! "  "  Oh,"  they  replied,  smiling  with  much  dig- 
nity, "  the  dash  of  the  Italian  soldjer  .  .  ."  And  they  fin- 
ished the  phrase  with  a  gesture  which  signified :  they  could 
perform  many  other  miracles. 

The  conversation  ended  unfortunately  by  always  falling  upon 
the  battle  of  Custoza,  regarding  which  these  two  gentlemen  had 
a  most  pitiless  amount  of  curiosity. 

"  When  you  think  of  it,  a  retreat  must  be  a  very  sad  sight ! " 
the  counsellor  was  wont  to  remark,  in  a  melancholy  tone. 

"Listen,"  my  good  friend  Albert  replied  to  him  one  evening 
(this  Albert  was  one  of  the  most  impetuous  and  dramatic  talk- 
ers in  the  regiment);  "it  is  a  trial  in  comparison  with  which  the 
loss  of  our  fondest  hopes  and  the  greatest  disappointments  of 
our  life  are  as  nothing,  and  this  is  the  sorrow  that  filled  our 
souls  that  evening.  ...  In  the  morning  we  were  happy, 
wild  with  joy,  filled  with  an  enthusiasm  that  brought  tears  to 
our  eyes  and  made  us  break  out  into  the  maddest  shouts,  so 
impatient  were  we  for  the  battle,  so  sure  of  conquering; 
and  a  few  hours  later — behold  the  army  so  full  of  youth,  life, 
and  daring,  that  army  idolized  by  the  country,  the  fruit  of  so 
many  sacrifices,  the  object  of  so  much  care,  the  subject  of  so 
much  trepidation  and  so  many  hopes  ;  a  few  hours  later,  con- 
quered, disordered,  and  wandering  over  the  country  like  a  dis- 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  93 

banded  herd  !  Ah,  it  is  a  spectacle  that  rends  the  soul,  and 
which  no  words  can  describe  !  '  Who  will  give  us  back  the 
hearts  we  had  in  the  morning  ? '  one  of  us  asked  ;  '  our  pride, 
faith,  strength  ?  Who  will  call  back  to  our  eyes  those  tears  of 
enthusiasm  ?  Who  will  raise  the  edifice  on  these  ruins  ?  And 
what  will  the  country  say?'  Heavenly  Father,  the  country  ! 
The  mere  thought  fled  back  astonished  ;  we  seemed  to  hear 
once  more  the  cries  and  applause  with  which  the  population  of 
the  cities  had  accompanied  us  to  the  gates,  that  applause  which 
went  to  our  hearts  and  filled  them  completely.  '  Oh,  be  si- 
lent ! '  we  said  to  ourselves  ;  '  we  are  soldiers,  and  our  poor 
hearts  are  breaking.' " 

There  followed  a  moment's  silence. 

"  What  a  rout  there  must  have  been  that  evening  !  "  said  the 
counsellor. 

"And  your  division?"  asked  the  owner  of  the  house  with 
much  sweetness ;  "about  what  time  did  you  begin  to  re- 
treat ? " 

The  tone  in  which  the  question  was  asked  expressed  the 
strong  desire  to  know  how  things  really  went,  and  not  as  they 
were  reported  to  have  done  by  people  and  newspapers.  The 
officer  understood,  and  replied  : 

"  As  far  as  I  can  remember,  my  division  began  to  retire  from 
the  field  shortly  after  sunset.  The  different  corps  arrived  at 
quick  step  from  the  different  parts  of  the  country  at  the  road 
leading  to  Villefranche  ;  here  the  ranks  were  broken,  the  regi- 
ments mingled,  every  appearance  of  order  was  lost,  and  a  tu- 
multuous crowd  rushed  into  the  city,  spreading  rapidly  through 
the  principal  streets,  squares,  alleys,  and  court-yards  of  the 
houses.  Burning  with  thirst,  a  great  portion  of  the  soldiers 


94  MILITARY  LIFE. 

rushed  at  the  wells  with  tremendous  avidity  and  a  cry  of  sav- 
age joy  that  was  absolutely  startling.  Ten,  twenty,  thirty,  the 
first  on  their  faces,  the  others  with  their  chests  on  the  backs  of 
the  first,  hung  over  the  mouth  of  a  well,  their  feet  in  the  air,  at 
the  risk  of  falling  headlong  into  the  water,  and  disputed  with 
trembling  hands  the  rope,  the  bucket,  the  pole,  pushing  each 
other  back  with  their  elbows  and  by  shoves  and  kicks,  threaten- 
ing to  use  their  bayonets,  and  shrieking  oaths  and  imprecations 
into  each  other's  ears  ;  until  the  bucket,  drawn  up  by  ten  vigor- 
ous arms,  came  in  sight.  Then  the  cries  ;  blows  were  re- 
doubled, all  the  arms  were  bent  downward  to  seize  it  first  ; 
when  it  appeared,  twenty  arms  caught  hold  of  it,  ten  burning 
mouths  were  nailed  to  its  edges,  drawn  here  and  there,  the 
water  spilled  over  their  faces,  clothes,  and  the  ground.  .  .  . 
Who  has  drunk  ?  No  one  ;  and  so  it  was  everywhere.  The 
majority  of  the  soldiers  had  scattered  over  the  country  ;  some 
battalions,  but  half  comprehending  the  orders  received,  had 
not  even  entered  Villefranche,  and  had  taken  the  road  in  the 
direction  of  Goito  by  paths  through  the  fields  ;  so  that  only 
the  nucleus  of  the  different  corps  remained,  one  may  say — the 
colonel,  flag-bearer,  the  majority  of  the  officers,  and  a  few  sol- 
diery ;  not  one  of  the  band.  The  crowd  which  filled  the  street 
uttered  deafening  shouts  ;  there  was  a  calling  in  a  loud  voice, 
a  breaking  through  the  crowd  by  means  of  pushes,  a  running 
hither  and  thither  of  officers  to  seize  soldiers  by  the  arm  and  try 
and  collect  them  around  the  flag,  a  coming  and  going  of  aides- 
de-camp  and  couriers  on  horseback  ;  in  the  middle  of  the 
square  a  hurried  grouping  of  colonels  and  staff-officers,  an 
anxious  questioning,  a  giving  and  revoking  of  orders  ;  all  pant- 
ing, and  their  faces  flaming,  wearied,  contorted,  and  full  of 


THE   SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  95 

consternation.  Finally,  as  good  fortune  willed  it,  followed  by 
about  thirty  soldiers,  who  had  to  file  one  by  one  among  a  row 
of  carts  and  the  last  houses  of  the  place,  I  got  out  into  the 
open  country,  on  the  road  leading  to  Goito.  I  found  my  bat- 
talion again,  reduced  to  a  little  more  than  two  hundred  sol- 
diers, and  with  these  I  resumed  my  march.  Little  by  little  it 
grew  very  dark  ;  we  could  not  see  before  or  around  us ;  half  of 
the  road  was  filled  with  artillery  and  provender  wagons,  which 
stopped  every  now  and  then,  so  that  it  was  all  one  could  do  to 
avoid  breaking  his  head  against  points  of  the  bars,  and  to  keep 
his  feet  from  under  the  wheels.  There  were  ditches  on  the 
right  and  the  left  of  the  road  ;  mile-stones  and  heaps  of  stones 
at  every  step  ;  from  time  to  time  carts  overturned  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road,  bags  opened,  and  every  kind  of  provision 
spread  about ;  within  short  distances  of  each  other  the  commis- 
sary cart  at  a  standstill,  on  it  a  small  light,  and  around  it  a 
crowd  of  soldiers  who  blocked  the  way  of  the  persons  coming 
up.  From  time  to  time  there  was  some  major  or  staff-officer 
who  came  upon  us  when  we  least  expected  it,  and  ill-luck  to 
him  who  was  not  quick  in  getting  out  of  the  way.  On  all  sides 
^iere  were  groups  of  soldiers  who  obliged  the  others  to  walk 
zigzag  ;  at  every  moment  gunstocks  which  came  within  an  ace 
of  putting  out  our  eyes,  and  great  knocks  from  those  who  had 
fallen  asleep.  There  was  a  dense  and  continuous  cloud  of 
dust,  which  filled  our  eyes  and  mouths  ;  a  continuous  shouting 
of  artillerymen  against  the  civilian  wagoners,  who,  quite  dazed 
in  the  midst  of  that  confusion,  unluckily  rilled  up  the  road  ;  an 
angry  screaming  of  the  officers,  who  were  trying  in  vain  to  get 
together  the  remains  of  their  own  squads  ;  soldiers  who  con- 
tinually crossed  from  the  fields  to  the  road  and  from  the  road  to 


96  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  fields,  falling  and  rolling  down  the  banks  of  the  ditches  ;  in 
fact,  a  confusion,  a  racket,  a  tumult  that  is  indescribable  ;  it  was, 
in  fact,  an  infernal  night.  Ah  !  a  retreat  is  indeed  a  sad,  sad 
sight ! 

"  The  exertions  of  the  day  and,  more  than  all,  the  violent 
emotions  which  we  had  experienced  in  so  short  a  time,  had 
completely  exhausted  me.  I  was  dead  tired  ;  I  caught  sight 
of  an  artillery  wagon  where  there  was  an  empty  place  ;  I  took 
advantage  of  the  moment  when  it  stopped,  jumped  up  oh  to  it; 
the  men  made  room  for  me  ;  I  seated  myself,  leaned  over,  and 
went  to  sleep.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  the  day  was  beginning 
to  break.  We  were  within  a  few  steps  of  the  bridge  of  Goito. 
It  rained  ;  I  touched  my  clothes,  and  they  were  wet.  I  looked 
up  ;  the  sky  was  covered  by  a  great  dark,  massive  cloud  that 
promised  rain  for  the  entire  day.  I  looked  around  through 
the  fields  ;  there  were  quantities  of  soldiers  walking  slowly 
along,  with  their  heads  lowered  and  their  eyes  on  the  ground. 
Many  of  them  had  taken  the  linen  of  the  tents  and  had  put 
it  over  their  shoulders  like  a  shawl,  to  protect  themselves 
from  the  water  ;  many  others  who  had  lost  their  knapsacks 
and  linen  took  refuge  under  that  of  a  comrade,  and  so  the^ 
walked  two  by  two,  arm  in  arm,  with  their  heads  completely  en- 
veloped ;  others  who  had  lost  their  caps  had  put  on  their 
handkerchiefs  ;  others  who  had  thrown  away  their  knapsacks 
carried  their  things  in  a  bundle  on  the  end  of  their  bayonets  : 
and  all  of  them  dragged  themselves  along  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  limping  and  stumbling  at  every  moment.  Some 
stopped  every  now  and  then  to  lean  against  a  tree  or  throw 
themselves  on  the  ground  ;  then  rose  with  difficulty,  after  a  lit- 
tle, to  resume  their  weary  way.  I  passed  over  the  bridge  ;  that 


THE   SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  97 

bridge  upon  which,  a  few  hours  before,  an  Austrian  and  an 
Italian  sentinel  stood  drawn  up,  looking  doggedly  at  each 
other.  I  entered  Goito  ;  turned  to  the  right  on  the  principal 
street.  What  a  spectacle  met  my  eyes  !  On  the  right  and 
left  of  the  street,  at  the  corners,  against  the  walls,  under  the 
eaves,  in  the  door-ways  of  shops  and  houses, — everywhere,  in 
fact,  were  soldiers  utterly  exhausted  from  their  march  and  fast; 
some  standing  with  their  shoulders  leaning  against  the  wall ; 
some  sitting  all  doubled  up,  with  their  hands  on  their 
knees  and  their  chins  in  their  hands  and  their  eyes  wander- 
ing here  and  there  with  a  tired,  sleepy  look  ;  others  were 
stretched  out  and  fast  asleep  with  their  heads  on  their  knap- 
sacks ;  others  who  nibbled  a  piece  of  bread,  holding  it  tightly 
in  their  two  hands  and  glancing  around  suspiciously,  as  if  some 
one  were  threatening  to  come  and  drag  it  away  from  their  very 
teeth  ;  others  re-arranged  the  things  in  their  knapsacks,  or 
slowly  and  listlessly  dried  their  arms  on  the  folds  of  the  cloaks. 
Meanwhile  the  street  swarmed  with  soldiers  who  were  going 
toward  Cerlungo.  Many,  glancing  here  and  there  with  a  half- 
astonished,  half-frightened  face,  passed  on  ;  others  stopped  be- 
side the  wall,  threw  their  knapsacks  carelessly  down,  and  let 
themselves  down  on  to  them  like  bundles  of  rags.  From  time 
to  time  one  of  those  lying  down,  raising  himself  on  his  el- 
bows, rose  to  his  feet  with  a  great  effort,  and  joined  and  con- 
tinued his  way  with  the  first  soldier  of  his  regiment  whom  he 
saw  pass  by.  At  the  doors  of  the  few  shops  which  were  open, 
there  was  a  continual  appearance  of  soldiers  by  threes,  fours, 
and  ten  at  a  time,  and  a  persistent  demand  for  something  to 
eat,  for  which  they  would  gladly  pay,  and  they  stretched  out 
their  hands  to  show  the  money.  '  There  is  nothing  more,'  re- 


98  MILITARY  LIFE. 

plied  a  compassionate  voice  at  the  end  of  the  shop  ;  '  I  am 
sorry,  boys,  but  there  is  nothing.'  To  another  shop,  then  ; 
nothing  here  either ;  nothing  anywhere,  in  fact.  In  passing 
before  certain  dens  of  cafe's,  they  saw  the  officers  sleeping 
with  their  arms  crossed  on  the  table  and  their  heads  resting 
on  their  arms  ;  there  were  three  or  four  heads  on  every  table, 
and  in  the  centre  glasses,  bottles,  and  bits  of  nibbled  bread. 
Some  with  their  heads  on  their  hands  looked  out  into  the 
street  with  their  eyes  fixed  and  staring :  they  were  all  sad, 
pallid,  distorted  faces  like  those  of  people  after  an  illness  ; 
and  the  waiters,  erect  at  the  end  of  the  establishment,  their 
arms  crossed  over  their  breasts,  stood  looking  at  the  scene 
with  an  air  of  sadness.  The  openings  of  the  side  streets  were 
filled  with  carts  and  horses,  around  which  people  were  silently 
employed,  the  soldiers  of  the  train  and  the  common  wagoners. 
Meanwhile  several  batteries  of  artillery  passed  through  the 
principal  street,  and  that  grave  and  slow  passage,  the  dull, 
monotonous  noise  of  the  wagons  which  made  the  window 
panes  rattle,  those  robust  artillery  men  so  pensive,  and  serious, 
enveloped  in  their  great  gray  cloaks,  filled  one's  heart  with  a 
profound  sadness.  Many  carriages  containing  wounded  offi- 
cers, came  slowly  behind  the  artillery,  stopping  every  time  the 
column  did.  .  .  .  But  aside  from  the  noise  of  the  wagons 
and  carriages,  over  all  Goito  reigned  a  mortal  silence  like  that 
of  an  uninhabited  city. 

"The  corps  of  my  division  had  encamped  on  the  left  of 
the  road  leading  from  Goito  to  Cerlungo,  and  which  goes 
on  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Mincio.  The  camp  had  a 
melancholy  air.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  a  few  groups 
of  soldiers  scattered  here  and  there,  who  were  unfolding  their 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  99 

wet  tents  and  cleaning  their  clothes  and  arms.  All  the  others 
were  under  the  tents  ;  at  every  moment  fresh  bands  of  soldiers 
arrived  and  wandered  uncertainly  around  the  camp  in  search 
of  their  company  ;  and  as  the  majority  had  lost  their  knapsacks, 
sticks,  and  tent,  they  stood  there  near  the  tents  of  the  com- 
panies, their  hands  folded,  mortified  and  annoyed,  looking 
around  with  the  air  of  lost  travellers.  No  sound  of  a  drum, 
trumpet,  or  voice,  was  heard,  nor  any  noise  ;  in  shutting  your 
eyes  you  would  have  fancied  the  whole  army  was  sleeping. 

"Having  reached  the  camp  of  my  regiment,  I  went  into  my 
tent  and  threw  myself  down  (without  saying  one  word),  beside 
my  comrades,  who  had  been  there  for  more  than  an  hour.  We 
did  not  salute  each  other,  nor  speak,  nor  even  look  one 
another  in  the  face  ;  we  were  as  mute  and  motionless  as  people 
who  have  lost  their  memory. 

"  Suddenly,  we  heard  a  sharp  cry  a  few  steps  from  the  tent  ; 
another  cry  farther  away  ;  a  third  nearer  still  ;  ten,  one  hun- 
dred, a  thousand  voices  broke  out  in  concert  on  all  sides  of  the 
camp,  and  we  could  hear  the  noise  of  hurrying  steps.  What 
could  it  be  ?  We  dashed  out  of  the  tent.  Oh,  what  a  magnifi- 
cent spectacle  !  The  whole  regiment  was  running  rapidly  tow- 
ard the  road  leading  to  Goito,  and  not  only  ours,  but  those 
on  the  right  and  left  of  us,  and  the  others  farthest  away,  pre- 
cipitated themselves  toward  the  road  as  if  for  the  assault  of 
an  entrenchment.  I  looked  in  the  soldiers'  faces ;  they  were 
changed,  trembling,  radiant,  and  they  were  all  uttering  loud 
cries  of  joy,  and  prolonged  noisy  bursts  of  applause  broke  out 
on  all  sides  of  the  camp.  We  flew  toward  th£  road  ;  two 
carabineers  on  horseback  with  bare  swords  passed  ;  a  car- 
riage appeared ;  every  head  was  bared,  all  arms  raised,  one 


IOO  MILITARY  LIFE. 

powerful  shout  burst  from  the  thousand  mouths  of  the  multi- 
tude ;  the  carriage  passed,  and  the  soldiers  turned  back.  .  .  . 
But  the  entire  aspect  of  the  camp  was  instantly  changed ;  faith 
and  hope  seemed  revived ;  no  one  entered  the  tents ;  on  all 
sides  there  rose  and  lasted  until  evening  a  tumult  full  of  gaiety 
and  life.  The  bands  played  marches  again  ;  the  dear  old  friends 
of  our  enthusiasms  and  our  hearts  experienced  for  a  moment 
the  sublime  intoxication  of  the  days  before.  'Oh  we  will 
fight  still ! '  we  said  ;  '  we  will  fight  still  ! '  " 

"  Who  was  in  that  carnage  ?  "  asked  Carluccio,  with  intense 
curiosity. 

"  The  king." 

IX. 

Finally  Carluccio  got  up,  and  the  came  day  the  physician 
held  the  following  conversation  with  us  : 

"  My  dear  gentlemen,  I  feel  bound  to  tell  you  that  this  boy 
ought  to  return  home.  He  is  cured  ;  but  the  slightest  over- 
exertion  may  prove  fatal.  Perhaps  if  peace  is  declared  within 
a  few  days,  we  shall  turn  our  backs  on  Venice,  go  to  Ferrara, 
from  Ferrara,  heaven  only  knows  where  ;  we  shall  be  obliged 
to  accept  the  trifle  of  a  fifteen  or  twenty  days'  march,  and  even 
more,  and  it  is  impossible  that  this  boy  should  follow  us  ;  he 
needs  quiet  and  repose,  and  not  to  march  seven  hours  a  day, 
and  sleep  on  the  ground.  This  is  not  the  life  for  a  boy  who  is 
convalescent ;  therefore.  .  .  .  You  must  provide  something 
else." 

And  he  left  us.  •  We  thought  the  subject  over  for  some 
time,  but  no  matter  how  much  we  tried  to  get  away  from  what 
the  physician  had  said,  we  could  find  no  good  reason  for  oppos- 


THE   SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  IOI 

ing  him.  There  was  an  indisputable  necessity  for  the  boy  to 
return  home,  but  how  was  it  to  be  managed  ?  But  to  what 
home  was  he  to  return,  poor  fellow  ?  In  his  home  he  would 
die  of  a  broken  heart.  No,  that  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  but 
where  then  could  we  send  him  ?  We  thought  it  over,  held  a 
consultation  about  it,  discussed  it,  and  did  not  succeed  in 
coming  to  any  definite  conclusion  about  the  matter,  and  we  were 
on  the  point  of  paying  no  attention  to  the  advice  of  the  doctor, 
when  an  officer  from  Padua,  a  young  fellow  who  had  enough 
heart  to  give  a  portion  to  the  entire  regiment  and  still  retain 
sufficient  for  himself,  came  out  with  the  following  : 

"  I  will  attend  to  the  matter,  but  I  must  know  his  family 
name  and  where  he  lives.  I  will  put  him  under  the  protection 
of  my  family  ;  I  will  write  home  to-day  on  the  subject.  If 
he  were  protected  by  my  friends  he  could  return  to  his  step- 
mother, and  if  there  were  any  need  of  it,  we  would  take  him 
into  the  house  and  keep  him  as  long  as  necessary  ;  I  give  you 
my  word  ;  will  that  do  ?  " 

The  proposal  was  received  with  a  general  "  Very  good,  in- 
deed," and  a  great  slapping  on  the  back  of  the  proposer,  which 
took  off  all  the  dust  that  had  gathered  on  his  jacket  during 
the  manoeuvres. 

"But  now  the  difficult  part  comes,"  he  added,  disengaging 
himself  from  us  with  a  couple  of  well-bestowed  pinches. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  we  asked. 

•  "To  persuade  him." 

I  resolved  to  assume  the  responsibility,  and  we  separated. 

That  evening,  before  sunset,  while  ten  or  twelve  of  us  stood 
chatting  about  trifles  near  the  commissary's  booth,  the  Paduan 
officer  raised  his  voice  above  the  racket  of  the  group,  and  ex- 
claimed : 


IO2  M1LITAR  Y  LIFE. 

"  A  new  armistice  has  been  concluded  ;  we  can  leave  the 
camp  ;  who  is  coming  to  see  Venice  ?  " 

"  I  !  "  we  all  replied  in  one  voice. 

"  Shall  we  go  immediately  ? " 

"Yes,  immediately." 
I     And  all  moved. 

"  Carluccio,  come  with  us  ;  we  are  going  to  see  Venice." 

From  our  camp,  situated  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mestre, 
Venice  could  not  be  seen  ;  but  in  much  less  than  an  hour  we 
reached  a  point  from  which  it  was  clearly  visible  ;  that  point, 
at  which  you  turn  from  the  highway  leading  from  Padua  to 
Mestre,  toward  Venice,  into  a  little  road  which,  on  a  high 
embankment,  goes  as  far  as  Fusina  on  the  banks  of  the  la- 
goon. At  that  point  there  is  a  group  of  country  houses,  and  an 
inn  well  known  and  dear  for  the  sake  of  two  of  the  prettiest 
little  faces  that  I  have  ever  seen  since  I  possessed  this  pair  of 
eyes.  We  took  the  road  to  Padua,  and  started  in  the  direc- 
tion of  those  houses.  We  had  scarcely  passed  the  inn,  which 
was  the  last  of  the  houses,  when  Venice  suddenly  presented  it- 
self to  view.  The  majority  of  us  had  never  seen  it ;  and,  there- 
fore, when  we  approached  the  hamlet,  our  hearts  began  to 
beat  furiously.  We  shall  see  it  at  last,  we  thought, — this 
blessed  city,  about  which  we  have  so  often  dreamed,  which 
we  have  often  sighed  for  and  invoked  !  We  counted  our  steps, 
and  the  minutes  and  seconds,  looking  at  one  another  and 
smiling.  Finally  some  one  shouted  : 

"  There  it  is  ! "  All  stopped  ;  a  shiver  ran  from  head  to  foot, 
and  my  blood  was  in  a  tumult.  No  one  opened  his  mouth. 

Before  us  was  stretched  an  immense  tract  of  barren,  unculti- 
vated land,  scattered  here  and  there  with  fords  and  large 


THE   SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  IO3 

swamps,  beyond  which  we  could  see  gleaming  in  the  dis- 
tance a  bit  of  the  lagoon,  and  beyond  the  lagoon,  Venice.  It 
appeared  to  us,  as  if  through  a  thick  mist,  pale  blue  in  color, 
which  gave  it  a  delicate  and  mysterious  appearance.  To  the 
left,  that  light,  enormous  bridge  ;  to  the  right,  away  in  the  dim 
distance,  the  fort  of  San  Giorgio  ;  and  farther  still,  other  forts 
scattered  along  the  lagoons,  which  looked  like  black  specks. 
It  was  an  enchanting  spectacle  !  The  place  all  around  was 
deserted  ;  and  a  light  breeze  that  was  blowing,  rustling  strongly 
through  the  neighboring  trees,  was  the  only  sound  to  be  heard. 

No  one  spoke ;  all  were  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
Venice. 

"  Come,  now  !  "  suddenly  shouted  one  of  my  companions,  a 
jolly  good  fellow,  rather  too  much  given  to  the  bottle  and  to 
sprees,  if  you  will,  but  as  nice  as  possible.  "  Come,  now, 
don't  let  's  stop  here  and  get  sentimental.  Who  will  have  a 
drop  of  wine  ?  " 

Some  one  shouted  "I,"  and  the  others  assented  with  their 
heads.  Carluccio  ran  to  the  inn,  and  we  seated  ourselves  on 
the  edge  of  the  dyke  turned  toward  Venice. 

"  Here  is  the  consoler  of  the  afflicted ! "  exclaimed  my 
friend,  pointing  to  the  wine  which  arrived  at  that  moment. 
"  Take  hold  of  the  bottle  and  up  with  the  glasses  !  "  It  is  well 
known  that  we  military  men  do  not  mind  a  drop  more  or  less 
when  we  are  in  company  ;  we  tipple  with  our  eyes  shut  ;  so  it 
is  not  to  be  wondered  at  if  after  a  few  moments  some  felt  in 
the  mood  for  singing. 

"  I  say,  Paduan,  teach  us  a  beautiful  barcarolle,  you  who 
know  so  many  and  shriek  them  into  our  ears  from  morning 
until  night,  whether  we  wish  to  hear  them  or  not." 


104  MILITARY  LIFE. 

And  all  the  others  joined  in  :  "  Yes,  teach  us  a  beautiful  bar- 
carolle." 

"  Oh,  apply  to  him,"  replied  the  Paduan,  pointing  to  one  of 
his  neighbors,  who  was  something  of  a  tenor  and  a  poet. 
"  Make  him  improvise  a  romance,  that  's  his  profession." 

They  all  approved  in  chorus  :  "  Courage,  Mr.  Poet,  out  with 
the  romance,  out  with  the  music,  out  with  the  voice,  or  out  with 
— some  banter." 

I  think  my  friend,  to  whom  these  words  were  addressed,  had 
a  poem  all  composed  in  his  head,  because  he  accepted  the 
invitation  too  promptly  and  with  too  manifest  pleasure,  but 
at  all  events  he  did  not  bring  out  any  thing  but  very  ordi- 
nary verses,  camp  verses,  which  means  rather  labored  stuff. 

"  We  want  a  guitar    .     .     ." 

"  But  where  can  we  get  a  guitar  ?    Do  guitars  grow  here  ?  " 

"  Wait — wait,"  shouted  a  third,  starting  off  on  a  run  for  the 
inn.  A  short  time  after,  he  returned,  guitar  in  hand.  "  It  is 
all  very  well  to  talk  about  not  finding  a  guitar  here  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  city  of  gondolas  and  love." 

The  poet  (pray  pardon  him)  took  the  guitar,  struck  an  atti- 
tude ;  all  gathered  around  him,  were  silent  and  expectant. 

"  Listen  ;  first  I  will  recite  the  verses  and  refrain;  then  I  will 
sing  the  verse  and  you  others  the  refrain." 

"  All  right,"  they  all  replied  ;  "  start  off  with  the  left  foot." 

And  the  poet  began  : 

Pur  ti  saluto  anch'  io, 
O  Venezia  immortale  ! 
Che  infinite  desio, 
Cara,  ion"  avea  nel  cor  ! 
Che  divino  m'  assale 
Entusiasmo  d*  amor ! 


THE   SON  OF   THE  REGIMENT.  1 05 

"What  nonsense  !  what  nonsense  !  "  interrupted  our  jovial 
friend,  who  had  made  the  proposal  to  drink  ;  "  what 's  this  stuff  ? 
We  don't  want  any  melancholy,  we  want  to  be  gay  ;  give  us 
a  barcarolle  ;  go  along  with  your  "  desire  "  and  your  "  immor- 
tal," that  you  are  improvising,  my  dear  poet !  Do  you  think 
we  look  sentimental  ?  " 

All  those  who  had  taken  a  little  more  than  was  good  for 
them  approved  his  sentiments  loudly. 

"  Fine  taste,"  I  observed,  "  to  wish  to  make  clowns  of 
yourselves  !  There  is  really  a  chance  of  it,  with  this  proba- 
bility in  the  air  of  being  obliged  to  sheathe  our  swords  and 
take  once  more  the  road  to  Ferrara,  and  return  who  knows 
whither  to  lead  the  poppy-like  sort  of  life  of  a  garrison  !  We 
ought  to  turn  clowns  !  " 

The  sentimental  part  of  the  company  were  of  my  opinion  ; 
the  revellers  insisted  on  their  rights,  the  poet  held  firm,  and 
the  party  was  divided.  Half  moved  off  a  few  steps  from  us, 
lighted  cigars,  and  continued  to  tipple  with  the  best  grace  in 
the  world  ;  the  others  took  up  the  interrupted  song. 

"We  will  sing  you  a  refrain  too,  Messrs.  Snivelling  Poets  !  " 
shouted  one  of  the  merry-makers,  raising  his  glass  :  the  rest  all 
laughed. 

"  Sing,  do,"  replied  our  party. 

And  the  poet  (pray  pardon  him)  resumed  : 


Che  divino  m'  assale 
Entusiasmo  d'  amor ! 


And  the  chorus  : 


Si,  Venezia  immortale, 
T'  abbiam  tutti  nel  cor. 


1 06  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

And  the  revellers  : 

Che  poeta  bestiale  ! 
Che  cane  di  tenor  ! 

And  then  a  laugh — Carluccio's  small  voice,  tremulous  and 
harmonious,  was  distinctly  heard  among  all  the  others. 
Then  the  song  began  again  : 

Ma  pur  mentr'  io  ti  miro 
E  canto  e  ti  sorrido, 
Perche  un  lievo  sospiro 
Come  di  mesto  amor, 
E  non  di  giola  un  grido 
Prorompe  dal  mio  cor  ? 

Then  the  chorus  : 

Ti  guardo,  ti  sorrido, 
Ma  non  ho  lieto  il  cor. 

The  tipplers  : 

Invece  io  me  la  rido, 
E  il  partito  miglior. 

At  this  point  there  was  a  great  clinking  of  glasses,  and  an- 
other loud  outburst  of  laughter  ;  the  sun  had  disappeared,  and 
the  breeze  blew  more  freshly  than  ever. 

Ah  !  da  questa  contrada 
Che  in  noi  si  affida  e  spera 
Ah  !  non  la  nostra  spada, 
Non  1'  italo  valor, 
Ma  una  virtii  straniera 
Cacciera  1'  oppressor  ! 


Then  the  chorus : 


Quanto  e  mesta  la  sera 
Con  tal  presagio  in  cor  ! 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  IO/ 

And  the  sponges  : 

Che  squisito  barbera ! 
Che  spuma  !  Che  color  ! 

These  two  last  verses  were  sung  with  less  vivacity  than  the 
others  ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  solitude  of  the  place,  and  the  dying 
day,  and  the  sight  of  Venice,  which  began  to  be  peopled  with 
lights,  filled  even  the  hearts  of  the  most  thoughtless  ones  with 
a  little  melancholy. 

O  madre,  sul  tuo  seno 
Vorrei  chinar  la  testa 
E  sciorre  al  pianto  il  freno, 
E  infonder  nel  tuo  cor 
Questa  dolcezza  mesta 
Che  mi  sembra  dolor. 


And  the  chorus  : 


Vorrei  chinar  la  testa 
Di  mia  madre  sul  cor. 


Then  two  voices  of  the  other  group  : 

Non  mi  romper  la  testa, 
Fammi  questo  favor. 

The  others  no  longer  laughed.  The  last  verse  was  repeated 
twice.  The  revellers  improvised  no  more  words,  and  all  turned 
toward  Venice.  We  sang  the  fourth  verse  a  fourth  time  ;  but 
Carluccio  was  singing  no  longer  ;  he  understood  the  meaning 
of  it,  poor  boy,  and  it  had  touched  his  heart.  The  hour,  the 
place,  and  that  slow  and  melancholy  music  had  filled  his  soul 
with  a  sudden  sadness. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Carluccio  ?  What  do  you  keep  your  face 
hidden  in  your  hands  for?"  I  whispered  in  his  ear. 


108  MILITARY  LIFE. 

11  Nothing  !  " 

"  Listen.  .  .  .  Suppose  we  should  give  you  another  mamma, 
who  would  really  love  you  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  with  wide-stretched  eyes.  I  talked  to  him 
for  a  long  time  in  a  low  voice,  and  he  listened  quietly  to  me. 
"Well?"  I  asked  when  I  had  finished.  He  made  no  reply, 
but  went  on  plucking  at  the  grass  about  him.  "  Well  ?  " 

He  sprang  up,  ran  to  the  bank,  and  hid  on  the  other  side  of 
it.  A  moment  later  we  heard  a  burst  of  weeping  so  violent, 
so  despairing,  that  it  made  our  hearts  tremble. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  others. 

"  Just  what  was  to  have  been  expected."  They  were  all 
silent,  and  Carluccio's  sobs  were  distinctly  heard. 

"  He  must  cry  himself  out,"  said  one  ;  "  it  's  better  for  him, 
poor  fellow  ;  it  will  do  him  good." 

They  took  up  the  song  again  : 

O  madre,  sul  tuo  seno 
Vorrei  chinar  la  testa 
E  sciorre  al  pianto  il  freno, 
E  infonder  nel  tuo  cor 
Questa  dolcezza  mesta 
Che  mi  sembra  dolor. 

Between  every  verse  we  could  hear  the  mournful,  tired  sobs 
of  the  poor  child. 

The  spectacle  of  Venice  at  that  moment  was  divine. 

"Silence  !  "  said  one  of  our  number  suddenly.  All  stopped 
and  strained  their  ears  ;  the  wind  brought  us  now  and  then  the 
feeble  sound  of  drums. 

"  It  's  the  fanfara  of  the  Croats  of  Malghera,"  exclaimed  the 
Paduan. 


THE  SON  OF  THE  REGIMENT.  ICX) 

We  were  all  motionless  for  a  long  time,  without  exchanging 
one  word,  our  hearts  oppressed  at  the  sound  of  that  sad  and 
inimical  music,  which  seemed  to  relate  to  us,  derisively,  the 
sorrows  of  the  saddened  city,  for  which  we  had  offered  up  our 
lives  in  vain. 

It  would  be  quite  useless  to  try  and  tell  of  the  weeping  fits 
of  despair  and  prayers  of  Carluccio  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  more 
than  once  our  pity  was  so  aroused  that  we  were  on  the  point  of 
abandoning  our  project.  But  it  was  a  question  of  his  health, 
and  we  did  not  yield.  The  idea,  however,  of  a  good  family 
that  would  protect  him,  put  him  to  school,  and  send  him  out 
every  day  to  walk  with  the  small  brothers  of  the  officer,  and 
which,  if  necessary,  would  take  him  into  the  house  like  a  son, 
and  already  looked  upon  him  as  such,  mitigated  his  grief,  es- 
pecially after  we  had  read  to  him  an  affectionate  letter  from 
the  mother  of  his  host,  in  which  there  were  a  thousand  prom- 
ises and  assurances  that  Carluccio  would  be  the  dearest  object 
of  her  care  and  affection,  and  which  produced  such  an  effect 
upon  him,  that  after  having  tried  again  and  again  to  turn 
us  from  our  resolution,  he  resigned  himself  to  the  bitter  ne- 
cessity, sighing  :  "Well  !  .  .  .  then,  I  will  return  home!  " 

After  a  few  days  we  broke  up  camp  and  set  out  en  route  for 
Padua.  We  arrived  there  one  beautiful  morning  at  sunrise. 
We  entered  by  the  Portello  and  passed  through  nearly  the  same 
streets  we  had  traversed  the  first  time.  Upon  reaching  a  cer- 
tain point  we  saw  the  Paduan  officer  leave  the  ranks  and  start 
in  the  direction  of  the  entrance  of  a  fine  house,  holding  by  the 
hand  Carluccio,  who  was  pressing  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes. 
When  they  were  at  the  door  the  boy  stopped,  turned  toward  us 


110  MILITARY  LIFE. 

his  face  streaked  with  tears,  and  raising  one  hand  with  a  con- 
vulsive gesture,  he  shouted  between  his  sobs  : 

"  Good-by,  regiment !  good-by,  Mr.  Officers  and  soldiers  ! 
Good-by,  all  !  All  so  good  !  I  shall  always,  always  remember 
you  !  Good-by  !  good-by  !  " 

"  Good-by,  Carluccio  ! "  the  officers  and  soldiers  replied  in 
passing.  "  Good-by  to  the  son  of  the  regiment !  Good-luck 
to  you,  little  one.  Do  not  forget  us  !  Au  revoir.  Good-by  ! 
good-by  !  " 

The  poor  boy,  not  being  able  to  say  another  word,  continued 
to  salute  the  officers,  soldiers,  and  flag,  waving  his  arm  ;  and 
then  disappeared  suddenly,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

We  never  saw  him  again  from  that  day  forth  ;  but  the  regi- 
ment preserved  for  a  long  time  the  recollections  of  the  little 
adopted  son,  and  every  soldier  bore  in  his  heart,  from  garrison 
to  garrison,  the  memory  of  that  lovely  affection,  just  as  he  had 
carried  the  roses  from  the  gardens  of  Padua  on  the  point  of 
his  bayonet. 


THE   CONSCRIPT. 


IT  was  a  Sunday,  toward  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  the 
weather  was  very  beautiful.  The  barracks  were  nearly  empty. 
Almost  all  the  soldiers  had  gone  to  walk  about  the  city  ;  the 
few  who  remained,  part  in  the  dormitories  dressing  themselves, 
part  down  in  the  court-yard  waiting,  were  about  to  start  off 
too  ;  those  down  below  crying  from  time  to  time,  "  Make 
haste,"  and  those  above  replying,  "In  a  moment,"  while  per- 
haps they  were  trying  to  buckle  on  their  belts  so  tightly  as  to 
give  them  a  slender  waist.  Even  the  conscripts,  who  had  only 
joined  the  regiment  two  days  before,  had  gone  out  in  part, 
while  the  rest  were  on  the  point  of  leaving  in  sixes,  eights,  and 
tens  together,  pale  and  serious,  their  caps  on  crookedly,  their 
cloaks  all  bunched  up,  their  hands  wide-stretched  and  stuck 
into  a  pair  of  big  white  gloves  that  looked  like  those  the  boxers 
wear  ;  and  the  soldiers  of  the  guard,  seated  on  a  bench  at  the 
door  of  the  barracks  went  on  making  remarks  about  them  as 
they  passed,  although  the  sergeant  grumbled  from  time  to 
time  :  "  Leave  those  poor  fellows  in  peace  !  "  The  officer  of 
the  guard,  stretched  on  the  bed  in  a  room  on  the  first  floor, 
was  glancing  over  a  newspaper. 

In  the  farthest  corner  of  the  court  there  was  a  conscript 
all  alone,  seated  on  the  steps  of  a  door,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  chin  on  his  hands.  He  followed  his  comrades 


1 1 2  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

one  by  one  with  his  eyes  as  they  went  out,  and  when  no  one 
was  passing  he  looked  steadfastly  on  the  ground.  He  had 
the  air  of  one  of  those  good  fellows  who  leave  with  much 
pain  the  family  and  village  where  they  were  born,  but  come 
to  act  as  soldiers  full  of  resignation  and  good-will. — The  con- 
cise law  which  enforces  this  duty,  the  fact  that  their  names 
had  been  placed  on  the  conscript  list,  the  examples  of  their 
fathers  and  their  comrades,  afford  them  justification  for  such 
a  course  ;  and,  in  fact,  as  their  king  calls  them,  there  is  nothing 
to  be  said,  and  no  one  is  permitted  to  make  any  further  inves- 
tigations on  the  subject. — But  on  his  face  there  was  something 
more  of  that  expression,  half  pensive,  half  astonished,  which 
is  peculiar  to  conscripts  during  the  first  few  days  ;  there  was 
melancholy.  Perhaps  he  was  repenting  not  having  wished  to 
go  out  with  the  others.  It  is  always  rather  sad  to  stop  at  home 
on  Sunday  when  the  weather  is  fine. 

Gradually  the  quarters  were  deserted,  and  an  absolute  silence 
reigned. 

A  corporal  in  fatigue  dress,  hastily  crossing  the  court,  sees 
the  conscript,  stops,  and  asks  him  brusquely  : 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  with  your  hands  folded  ?  " 

"  I  ? "  replies  the  conscript. 

"I?"  repeats  the  corporal,  drawling,  and  assuming  a  stupid 
expression  of  face.  "  This  is  curious  !  To  whom  are  you 
speaking  now  ?  the  moon  ?  Yes,  you.  And  rise  to  your  feet 
when  you  speak  to  your  superiors." 

The  conscript  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  and  what  company  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

"  Company  ?  " 

"Company?"  asked  the  corporal  in  his  turn,  in  a  mocking 
tone.  "  Do  you  know  that  you  are  a  great  blockhead,  you  ? " 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  11$ 

He  approaches,  seizes  him  by  the  edge  of  his.  jacket,  and,  giv- 
ing it  a  great  pull  which  makes  him  tremble,  says :  "  Look  !  look 
how  you  have  spoiled  your  coat  by  sitting  on  the  ground  like  a 
beggar." 

The  conscript  begins  to  clean  his  jacket  with  his  hand. 

"  Look  what  a  state  your  shoes  are  in  !  "  and  he  gives  him  a 
kick  on  the  top  of  his  toes. 

The  soldier  draws  out  his  handkerchief  and  bends  to  dust 
his  boots. 

"Arrange  that  cravat,  it  is  going  over  your  ears."  And, 
seizing  him  by  the  cravat,  he  gives  him  a  shake  that  nearly 
throws  him  to  the  ground. 

The  conscript  raises  his  hand  to  his  cravat. 

"  Put  that  cap  on  better." 

And  he  carries  his  hand  to  his  cap. 

"  And  draw  up  those  trowsers  if  you  don't  wish  to  spoil 
them  in  a  week,  straighten  the  buttons  of  your  coat,  take  out 
those  earrings  which  are  ridiculous,  and  don't  stand  there 
with  your  chin  on  your  chest  so  that  you  look  like  a  monk, 
and  don't  stare  at  people  with  that  idiotic  face.  .  .  ." 

The  poor  young  fellow  went  on  touching  with  trembling 
hands  now  his  cravat,  now  his  trousers,  now  the  buttons,  now 
his  cap  ;  and  he  did  not  succeed  in  doing  any  thing,  for  the 
more  he  worked  the  less  he  accomplished.  At  that  moment 
the  vivandiere,  who  was  young  and  pretty,  passed,  and  she 
stopped,  heartless  woman,  to  look  at  him.  To  appear  ridicu- 
lous in  the  eyes  of  a  beautiful  woman  !  Ah,  it  is  the  most 
tormenting  of  all  shames  !  The  poor  conscript  lost  his  head 
completely,  trifled  a  little  longer  with  his  cravat  and  buttons, 
and  then  felt  his  arms  drop,  his  chin  sink  on  his  breast,  and 


1 1 4  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

his  eyes  drop  to  his  feet,  and  he  stood  motionless  as  a  statue, 
utterly  annihilated. 

The  vivandiere  smiled  and  went  away.  The  corporal,  look- 
ing at  him  and  shaking  his  head  with  an  air  of  scornful  com- 
miseration, went  on  repeating  :  "  You  ape  !  You  ape  !  " 

Then  raising  his  voice  :  "  You  must  wake  up,  my  dear  fel- 
low, and  quickly  too,  or  else  we  shall  wake  you,  I  assure  you  ; 
and  how  we  will  do  it !  Imprisonment  and  bread  and  water, 
bread  and  water  and  imprisonment,  alternating,  just  so  as  not 
to  tire  you.  Remember  that.  Now  go  to  your  bed  and  clean 
your  clothes — march  !  " 

He  reinforced  the  command  by  raising  his  arm  with  the 
forefinger  pointing  toward  the  window  of  the  dormitory. 

"But  I     .     .     ." 

"  Silence ! " 

"  I  have  not     ..." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  I  tell  you,  when  you  are  speaking  to 
your  superiors  ;  or  the  prison  is  there  ;  do  you  see  it  ?  " 

And  he  moved  off  mumbling :  "  Oh,  what  people  !  oh,  what 
people  !  Poor  army  !  Poor  Italy  !  " 

"  Mr.  Corporal !  "  timidly  exclaimed  the  conscript. 

The  corporal  turned  and  pointed  to  the  prison  again  with  a 
pair  of  terrible  eyes. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  something." 

The  tone  was  so  quiet  and  respectful  that  he  could  not  do 
less  than  allow  him  to  speak. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  wished  to  ask  if  you  knew  that  there  was  here  in  this 
regiment  an  officer  from  my  home ;  there  must  be,  but  I  do  not 
know  if  there.  ." 


THE  CONSCRIPT.  1 15 

"  From  your  home  ?  If  people  from  your  place  are  all  of 
your  stamp,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  you  are  the  only  one  in  the 
regiment." 

And  shrugging  his  shoulders  he  moved  off. 

"  What  manners  !  "  the  conscript  murmured  sadly,  looking  at 
him  as  he  went  away.  "  Yet  they  certainly  told  me  that  he  is 
here,"  he  added,  seating  himself  again.  "  But  why  do  they 
treat  us  so  ?  What  are  we  ?  Are  we  dogs  ?  And  we  have  to 
lead  five  years  of  this  life  !  Oh,  .  .  .  it  is  too  much  !  too 
much  !  "  and  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  thought 
of  his  distant  family.  "  If  they  could  see  me  in  this  state  !  " 
he  said  to  himself  ;  "  poor  people  !  " 

He  was  startled  by  a  burst  of  laughter  at  the  end  of  the 
court  ;  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  three  soldiers  of  the  guard 
who  were  looking  at  him  and  laughing  and  talking. 

"  Oh,  what  a  great  blockhead  !  "  the  three  began  saying.  "  He 
is  in  love.  He  is  thinking  of  his  sweetheart.  Where  have  you 
left  her  ?  tell  us.  Poor  thing,  she  has  certainly  found  some 
way  of  consoling  herself  by  this  time.  Look,  look,  what  eyes 
you  are  making  !  "  And  then  all  three  exclaimed  in  one  voice, 
in  the  tone  of  a  priest  who  is  saying  mass :  "  Oh,  what  a  block- 
head !  " 

The  poor  young  fellow  turned  pale  ;  they  had  touched  him 
to  the  quick  ;  he  could  not  control  himself  any  longer  ;  he 
rose.  .  .  . 

"  Who  is  this  man  in  love  ? "  the  officer  of  the  guard  said 
to  himself,  going  to  the  window  with  his  newspaper  in  his  hand. 
The  soldiers  saw  him  and  fled  ;  the  conscript  raised  his  anxious 
face  to  the  window  and  looked  at  him.  The  officer  looked  at 
the  soldier  too,  and  seeing  him  give  a  sign  of  attention,  then 


Il6  MILITARY  LIFE. 

one  of  surprise  and  contentment  without  even  taking  his  eyes 
from  him  :  "  Who  can  this  original  be  ?  "  he  thought,  as  he 
went  down  into  the  court  and  walked  up  to  him. 

"  Why  are  you  laughing  and  twisting  your  hands  about  ?  "  he 
asked  in  a  severe  tone. 

And  the  soldier,  although  a  trifle  embarrassed,  continued  to 
smile. 

"  But  do  you  know  you  are  an  idiot  ?  I  ask  you  what  you 
are  laughing  at  ? " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  conscript,  dropping  his  eyes  and 
pulling  at  his  coat  with  both  his  hands  ;  "  I  knew  that  you 
were  in  this  regiment,  and  they  have  sent  me  here  too.  You 
won't  remember  me,  of  course  ;  but  I  recollect  you  ;  it  is 
three  years  since  you  went  away  ;  I  knew  you,  and  your  family 
too  ;  but  you  did  n't  know  us,  though  we  lived  near  you,  and 
in  the  morning  I  always  saw  you  pass  when  you  went  hunting, 
and  ...  we  came  from  the  same  place,  you  see." 

"  Ah  !  now  I  understand,"  replied  the  officer,  looking  at  him 
attentively  to  see  who  he  could  be. 

"  I  knew  that  you  had  gone  to  be  an  officer  when  you  went 
away,  and  that  you  had  entered  the  college,  and  then  you  did 
not  come  back.  .  .  .  Since  then  they  have  made  over  the 
facade  of  the  dome,  and  opened  a  cafe  in  the  square,  almost 
as  large  as  this  court,  and  it  is  always  full  of  people." 

"  Wait,  wait ;  now  I  remember.     Is  n't  your  name  Renzo  ? " 

"Yes!" 

"You  lived  in  that  little  house  next  the  church  outside 
the  town,  I  think." 

"  Exactly !  In  the  little  house  outside  the  town,  opposite  the 
mill." 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  117 

And  he  could  hardly  contain  himself  for  joy. 

"  I  remember  very  well.     And     .     .     .    tell  me,  how  do  you 
like  being  a  soldier  ?  " 

The  conscript's  face  changed  instantly  ;  he  dropped  his  eyes 
and  was  silent. 

"Why  did  n't  you  go  out  to  walk  with  the  others  ? " 

He  made  no  reply,  and  looked  at  his  nails  as  if  thinking  what 
he  should  say  ;  but  one  could  read  his  thoughts  on  his  face. 

The  officer  understood,  and  in  an  affable  voice,  which  went 
straight  to  his  heart,  asked  : 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

This  loosened  his  tongue,  and  growing  more  and  more  ani- 
mated, he  began  in  a  trembling  voice  :"!...;  listen, 
Mr.  Officer ;  I  ...  I  don't  know  what  is  the 
matter,  but  they  treat  us  in  a  way  that  hurts  us  ;  that  's 
the  trouble.  If  you  ask  any  thing,  they  do  not  reply ; 
and  then  they  say  things  to  us  that  offend  us,  and  we  have  to 
keep  quiet  or  else  there  is  the  prison  there  (and  he  imitated 
the  voice  of  the  corporal).  I  understand  perfectly  that  we 
don't  know  how  to  dress,  and  that  we  cannot  be  good  soldiers 
yet ;  but  we  have  only  been  here  two  days,  and  is  it  our  fault  ? 
Can  we  help  it  ?  You  know  we  came  on  purpose  to  learn,  and 
they  ought  to  have  a  little  more  patience  with  us,  I  think.  Then 
they  make  fun  of  us  before  people,  put  their  hands  on  us,  and 
give  us  blows,  and  we  have  to  bear  it  all,  and  they  laugh.  .  . 
I  do  not  see  why  they  ill-treat  us  so.  I  came  willingly  to  be  a 
soldier,  and  said  to  myself  :  I  will  do  my  duty,  and  my  superi- 
ors will  like  me  ;  but  now  that  I  see  .  .  .  Perhaps  when 
we  get  accustomed  to  it,  we  shall  not  notice  it,  but  it  hurts  us 
to  be  so  maltreated.  We  have  been  accustomed  to  home,  and 


Il8  MILITARY  LIFE. 

our  family  ;  every  one  liked  us,  and  here,  instead  ...  It 
hurts  us  ;  it  does  hurt  us  !  " 

These  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  really  disconsolate  tone  ; 
and  then  he  stopped  and  dropped  his  eyes,  continuing  to 
mutter  to  himself. 

I  The  officer  allowed  some  moments  to  pass  in  silence,  lighted 
a  cigar,  and  then,  in  a  careless  way,  as  if  he  had  not  under- 
stood or  did  not  wish  to  understand  any  thing,  he  said  : 

"  Draw  up  your  cravat  a  little  (and  he  helped  him  to  do  so)  ; 
so  ;  that  's  right.  Turn  around." 

The  soldier  turned  ;  the  officer  seized  and  drew  down  the 
end  of  his  coat.  "  Your  coat  must  have  no  wrinkles  ;  it  must 
be  as  smooth  as  a  corset.  Turn." 

He  turned  ;  the  officer  arranged  his  cap.  "  This  way — a 
little  sideways,  for  it  looks  better." 

The  conscript  smiled. 

"  And  stand  erect,  hold  up  your  head,  and  when  you  walk, 
step  off  freely  and  easily,  as  you  did  when  you  played  at  bowls 
in  our  court,  do  you  remember  ?  " 

He  smiled,  and  nodded  in  the  affirmative." 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  the  officer,  leaning  against  the  wall 
and  putting  one  leg  over  the  other  ;  "  look  every  one  in  the 
face,  because  you  need  not  fear  any  one,  or  be  ashamed  of 
yourself.  Do  you  understand  ?  Even  if  the  king  passed,  you 
are  to  raise  your  head  and  look  him  full  in  the  eyes,  as  if  to 
say  :  '  It  is  I.'  It  is  self-respect,  and  we  soldiers  must  always 
show  it  in  this  way,  remember." 

The  soldier  nodded  in  the  affirmative  and  began  to  grow 
composed. 

"  And  remember,  too,  that  as  soon  as  you  enter  the  barracks, 


THE   CONSCRIPT.'  1 19 

you  must  change  your  way  of  speaking  ;  few  words,  but  frank, 
loud,  and  sonorous,  with  any  one  who  addresses  you — yes  and 
no,  and  no  and  yes — and  if  you  have  nothing  else  to  say,  so 
much  the  better.  When  you  are  in  the  ranks  it  is  exactly  as 
if  you  were  in  church,  be  silent  ;  when  the  ranks  are  broken, 
you  are  at  home,  and  if  the  others  joke,  you  must  do  so  too, 
and  not  merely  stand  and  look  on,  because  this  makes  you  sad  ; 
dash  right  into  whatever  is  going  on.  Then  you  must  like 
your  comrades,  for  you  will  find  warm  friends  among  them,  I 
assure  you  ;  you  will  find  young  fellows  who  will  love  you  like 
a  brother.  You  will  see  ;  there  may  be  a  great  lack  of  every- 
thing, but  of  heart  never.  .  .  .  Have  you  a  pipe  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  If  so,  you  could  smoke.  And  when  a  superior  scolds — 
if  he  is  right,  listen  and  take  heed  ;  if  he  is  wrong,  listen  just 
the  same,  and  don't  take  it  to  heart,  because  in  this  world  we 
all  have  our  defects,  and  may  all  do  wrong  ;  we  make  a  mis- 
take in  scolding  sometimes  ;  but  always  if  we  disobey.  And 
you  must  not  think  that  all  the  officers  who  scold  have  bad 
hearts,  are  angry  with  you,  and  wish  to  harm  you.  There  is 
nothing  more  untrue.  These  rough  people  have  better  hearts 
than  the  others,  and  like  you,  and  if  they  were  taken  away 
from  you,  you  would  all  die  of  melancholy  in  fifteen  days. 
They  shout,  scold  ;  it  is  a  habit,  an  affair  of  the  lungs  ;  noth- 
ing more,  believe  me.  You  will  end  by  liking  them  better 
than  the  others.  You  will  see,  when  you  go  away  they  will 
weep.  I  have  seen  so  many.  I  saw  them  at  Custoza  .  .  ." 

"  That  battle  that  went  so  badly  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  a  captain  who  was  the  terror  of  his  company, 
and  no  one  could  bear  him,  but  they  were  all  wrong ;  not  one 


120  MILITARY  LIFE. 

man  fell  that  he  did  not  run  to  help  him,  look  at  his  wound, 
and  cheer  him  ;  he  was  always  in  motion  though  tired  to  death. 
'  O  captain  !  captain  !  don't  leave  me,  captain  ! '  the  sufferers 
shouted,  as  they  seized  him  by  his  arm  and  by  the  end  of 
his  coat.  '  No,  my  boy,'  he  replied  ;  '  I  will  stay  here  with 
you  until  you  are  cured  ;  courage,  courage,  boy,  your  captain 
will  not  leave  you.'  Do  you  understand  what  a  man  that 
was  ?  And  there  are  many  like  him ;  you  must  not  judge  from 
appearances  ;  and  pity  those  who  seem  bad,  and  be  grateful 
to  the  good,  and  above  every  thing  respect  all,  because  they  are 
soldiers,  and  any  day  we  may  see  them  die  under  our  eyes  like 
valiant  men.  When  we  love  any  one  we  gladly  bear  any  kind 
of  life,  remember  that.  Ask,  look  about  you,  and  make  your 
comrades  tell  you  this  ;  you  will  see  that  the  best  soldiers  al- 
ways loved  their  superiors.  Take,  for  instance,  the  soldier 
— what  was  his  name  ? — the  soldier,  Perrier,  in  '48,  who 
threw  himself  between  his  officer  and  the  enemy,  and  fell 
to  the  ground  with  three  balls  in  his  breast,  shouting  :  '  Re- 
member me,  my  good  officer ;  I  die  happy  in  having  saved 
your  life  ! '  And  that  other  grenadier,  I  do  not  recall  his  name, 
who,  rather  than  abandon  his  wounded  captain,  allowed  him- 
self to  be  beaten  to  death  with  bayonets,  shouting  :  '  If  you  do 
not  kill  me,  I  will  not  leave  him  to  you.'  Then  the  other 
eight  or  ten  who,  under  a  shower  of  bullets,  at  the  battle  of 
Rivoli,  went  and  dragged  from  the  hands  of  the  Germans  the 
body  of  their  officer,  as*  they  wished  to  bury  him  with  their  own 
hands,  and  give  him  the  last  honors  in  their  own  camp.  Then 
so  many  others,  whose  names  and  deeds  are  printed  in  a  hun- 
dred books,  and  remember  them  all  and  love  them  as  if  they 
were  living.  .  .  .  Have  you  a  match  ? " 


THE  CONSCRIPT.  121 

The  conscript,  who  up  to  that  point  had  seemed  to  be  in  a 
state  of  gaping,  wondering  ecstacy,  hurriedly  drew  out  a  match 
and  handed  it  to  him. 

"When  one  thinks  of  these  things  and  has  any  heart,  certain 
little  troubles,  and  certain  scantiness  in  the  living  of  the  soldiers 
are  quite  forgotten  ;  so  you  must  think  of  these  things  and  they 
will  teach  you  ;  and  you,  who  are  a  good  sort  of  fellow,  will 
keep  them  in  mind,  won't  you  ? " 

The  conscript  made  a  sign  in  the  affirmative,  as  he  could  not 
speak  for  a  moment. 

"Certainly,"  continued  the  officer,  "in  order  to  be  a  good 
soldier,  one  must  look  above  the  barracks  and  the  parade 
ground.  Then,  there  is  every  thing  in  habit.  The  knapsack 
is  so  heavy  at  first,  and  such  a  torment ;  they  all  say  so  ;  but 
little  by  little  it  becomes  a  trifle.  And  the  food  ?  You  cer- 
tainly don't  live  like  princes,  that  is  well  known  ;  but  you  must 
have  patience,  patience,  patience,  which  is  the  great  virtue  of  a 
soldier,  and  not  complain  and  whimper,  as  some  do,  with 
and  without  reason,  of  all  and  every  thing  ;  but  eat  what  there 
is  and  be  content  with  little.  Then  the  appetite  is  never  lack- 
ing when  a  man  works,  does  his  duty,  and  has  a  contented 
spirit ;  appetite  is  a  great  cook.  They  are  only  the  listless 
and  indolent  who  find  fault  with  every  thing,  and  are  never 
contented.  I  see  that  good  fellows  always  make  good  soldiers, 
because  their  superiors  like  them,  their  comrades  esteem  them, 
their  towns-people  respect  them,  and  there  are  some  of  them 
who  in  five  years  have  never  been  but  one  day  under  arrest, 
and  have  left  their  numero  diciotto  white  and  clean  as  a  hand- 
kerchief ;  and  you  will  be  one  of  these,  won't  you  ? " 

The  soldier  assented  quickly. 


122  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Bravo !  Now  don't  think  our  profession  is  all  thorns  ; 
there  are  flowers  for  those  who  know  where  to  look  for  them, 
and  good  soldiers  find  them.  Learn  to  do  your  duty  well,  always 
be  clean,  respectful,  and  willing,  and  from  your  captain  and  offi- 
cers you  will  hear  certain  'bravos  ! '  that  will  go  to  your  heart, 
and  increase  your  appetite  and  good  spirits.  The  days  will  pass 
quickly.  Then,  in  five  years,  no  one  knows  what  may  happen  ; 
they  might  make  you  change  garrison  ten  times,  and  then  time 
flies,  and  the  months  seem  days.  You  will  see  new  places :  cities, 
the  country,  mountains,  seas,  a  new  and  varied  world,  all  our 
beautiful  country — Italy — which  you  now  only  know  by  name  ; 
statues,  churches,  palaces,  gardens  ;  and  in  your  leisure  hours 
you  will  go  to  see  every  thing,  in  order  to  tell  every  thing  to 
your  family  and  friends  when  you  return  home.  In  the  sum- 
mer we  go  into  camp,  eight,  ten,  twenty  regiments,  cavalry  and 
artillery,  and  you  will  see  what  a  beautiful  sight  a  camp  is  ; 
what  a  noise,  what  gaiety,  and  how  much  life  there  will  be  every 
day,  and  the  great  manoeuvres,  and  the  fetes  they  have  before 
breaking  camp,  with  music  and  dancing,  tombolas,  races  ;  and  all 
the  officers  and  generals  join  in  the  fun  and  amuse  themselves 
with  the  soldiers,  and  all  the  people  in  the  country  round  about 
come  to  see  the  sight  and  clap  their  hands.  Then  you  will 
know  all  the  soldiers  of  the  corps,  you  will  have  a  quantity  of 
friends  ;  the  regiment  will  seem  like  one  great  family  to  you. 
And  all  the  honors  bestowed  upon  the  regiment  will  seem  to 
belong  to  you,  and  you  will  be  as  proud  of  your  old  colonel  as 
you  would  be  of  a  father.  When  you  see  the  flag  appear  in 
front  of  the  battalion  drawn  up  in  line,  and  the  bands  begin  to 
play  the  march  of  the  corps,  and  all  present  arms,  you  will  feel 
your  heart  beat  with  joy  and  pride,  and  you  will  tremble  with 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  123 

emotion.  Little  by  little  you  will  become  fond  of  every  thing  : 
of  your  arms,  your  uniform,  your  trencher,  of  this  court,  this 
staircase,  these  walls.  When  you  are  ready  to  go  away,  and 
have  already  been  to  take  leave  of  your  captain,  officers,  ser- 
geants, and  all  the  other  soldiers  that  treat  you  kindly  say  to 
you  'good-by,  a  fine  journey,  remember  us,'  your  heart  will 
throb  as  it  did  when  you  left  home  ;  then  when  you  are  down 
in  the  street,  you  will  turn  to  look  for  the  last  time  at  the  win- 
dows of  the  barracks,  and  you  will  stop  and  say  once  more  : 
'  Farewell !  O  my  second  paternal  home,  where  I  have  loved 
so  many  friends,  where  I  have  passed  so  many  beautiful  days 
with  a  clear  conscience,  where  I  have  thought  so  much  of,  and 
sighed  so  often  for,  my  dear  ones  ;  farewell !  my  poor  little  bed  ; 
farewell !  my  good  sergeant  of  the  guard  ;  farewell  !  .  .  .' 
What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? " 

The  conscript  was  motionless,  astounded,  his  face  contorted, 
his  breathing  labored,  and  his  eyes  moist  and  smiling. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

He  made  an  effort  to  control  his  voice  by  dropping  his  head 
and  stretching  out  his  neck,  as  if  to  swallow  a  great  mouthful ; 
but  he  only  succeeded  in  replying  hastily  in  a  mezza  voce : 
"  Nothing." 

The  officer  smiled. 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  write  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  replied  the  conscript,  thickly. 

"  Well,  then,  come  with  me." 

He  moved  off  toward  his  room,  and  the  conscript  followed 
him.  When  they  had  entered,  the  officer  made  his  young 
townsman  sit  down  at  the  table,  put  a  pen  in  his  hand,  a  sheet 
of  paper  in  front  of  him,  and  said  :  "  Write  to  your  father." 


124  MILITARY  LIFE 

The  conscript  looked  at  him,  open-mouthed. 

"Write  to  your  father." 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  what  you  have  seen,  what  you  think,  what  you 
feel ;  in  fact,  whatever  you  choose.' 

"But     .     .     . 

"  Keep  quiet ;  until  you  have  finished  I  shall  not  permit  you 
to  say  one  word." 

And  he  resumed  his  newspaper  near  the  window.  The  con- 
script continued  to  look  at  him  with  an  air  of  surprise,  then 
bent  his  head,  thought  for  some  moments,  and  began  to  write 
very  slowly. 

After  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  officer  asked  :  "  Have  you 
nearly  finished  ? " 

"  It  is  finished,"  replied  the  soldier,  quite  content. 

"Read  it,  then." 

"  Read  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

He  was  ashamed  to  do  so.  ' 

"Read  it,  I  tell  you." 

The  man  prepared  to  obey. 

"  But  tell  me  first,  have  you  written  the  truth  ?  Have  you 
been  quite  sincere  ?  Have  you  really  said  what  you  think  and 
feel  ? " 

The  soldier  placed  his  hand  on  his  breast. 

"  Read,  then." 

He  began  to  read  with  difficulty. 

MY  DEAR  FATHER  : 

I  reached  the  regiment,  and  they  instantly  made  me  cut  off  my  hair,  and 
then  they  dressed  me.   That  officer  of  our  town  whose  name  you  know,  I  saw 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  12$ 

in  the  court  to-day,  and  we  talked  together  for  more  than  an  hour.  We 
don't  have  the  best  food,  you  know  ;  but  it  is  so  hard  to  cook  for  so  many  ; 
and  then  the  appetite  is  never  lacking,  if  a  man  does  his  duty.  The  superi- 
ors scold  ;  but  they  are  not  so  overbearing  as  many  say  ;  for  there  are  sol- 
diers who  have  died  to  save  them,  and  would  not  leave  them  dead  in  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  There  are  also  soldiers  who  have  never  been  punished, 
and  I  hope  this  will  be  the  case  with  me.  Time  passes  quickly,  because  we 
shall  travel,  and  there  are  many  places  to  see,  and  then  the  manoeuvres, 
then  the  camp  too,  and  the  generals  amuse  themselves  with  the  soldiers 
and  have  tombola.  Then  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  the  flag  and  hear  the  music, 
and  to  find  friends  ;  and  the  old  colonel  is  like  our  second  father,  and  we  are 
his  sons.  Meanwhile  I  greet  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  keep  well,  etc. 

Your  most  affectionate  son. 


"Bravo  !  "  said  the  officer.  "And  now  do  me  the  favor  to 
go  and  drink  a  half  glass  of  wine  to  the  health  of  all  conscripts. 
Take  this,"  handing  him  a  ticket. 

"  Mr.  Officer  !  "  exclaimed  the  soldier,  quite  embarrassed, 
trying  to  refuse  it. 

"  Eh  !  "  shouted  the  officer,  in  a  menacing  tone. 

The  conscript  took  the  ticket,  and  preparing  to  go  out,  stam- 
mered some  words  of  thanks  :  "  Mr.  Officer,  ...  I  don't 
know  really  .  .  ." 

"  Silence !  " 

He  left  hastily,  went  down  the  staircase  three  steps  at  a 
time  ;  gave  two  or  three  jumps  in  the  court,  rubbing  his  hands, 
laughing  and  muttering  to  himself  as  he  did  so  ;  entered  the 
wine  cellar  ;  the  vivandiere  gave  him  his  glass  with  a  lovely 
smile  and  manner  that  made  him  forget  the  scene  of  a  short 
time  before  ;  he  drank,  went  out. 

Hardly  was  he  outside  when  he  met  the  corporal,  who  ap- 
proached with  a  more  agreeable  expression  of  face  and  in  a 
more  courteous  way. 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Tell  me,  is  that  officer  you  were  talking  to  an  hour  ago 
your  relative  ? " 

"  No." 

"  But  you  knew  him  ?  " 

"Very  well  indeed." 

"  Is  that  the  officer  from  your  town  for  whom  you  were 
looking  ?" 

"  The  same." 

"  I  did  not  understand,  you  see,  when  you  asked  me  .  .  ." 

"That  makes  no  difference." 

"If  I  had  understood  I  should  have  answered." 

"  Thanks." 

The  corporal  moved  off ;  the  conscript,  left  alone,  said  to 
himself  :  "  Well — in  the  end,  he  is  n't  a  bad  fellow — this  cor- 
poral !  " 

Just  at  that  moment  the  soldiers  began  to, return  in  groups 
to  the  barracks,  talking  and  singing  loudly  among  themselves. 
Among  the  others  was  a  band  of  conscripts,  a  trifle  intoxicated, 
who  were  making  a  tremendous  racket. 

"  When  the  others  make  a  noise,  you  dash  into  their  midst, 
and  do  the  same  "  ;  the  conscript  remembered  these  words.  "  I 
must  make  a  racket  too,"  he  thought ;  "what  shall  I  cry?  .  .  . 
Ah  ! "  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  lungs  :  "  Long  live  the  sol- 
dier Perrier  !  " 

And  the  rest,  perhaps  without  understanding  what  he  meant, 
replied  in  a  loud  voice  :  "Viva  !  " 

Our  soldier  dashed  into  their  midst,  and  singing  and  shout- 
ing they  went  up  in  confusion  to  the  dormitory. 

The  officer,  who  had  watched  him  from  the  window,  said  to 
himself  :  "  That  fellow  will  be  a  fine  soldier." 


THE   CONSCRIPT.  I2/ 

When  it  was  dark,  and  the  stars  were  all  out,  and  one  could 
hear  in  the  court-yard  that  gay  noise,  and  in  the  street  sounded 
the  bugle-call  for  the  retreat,  he  was  filled  with  an  indefinable 
mixture  of  generous  and  noble  sentiments,  so  much  so  that  al- 
most without  being  aware  of  it,  without  knowing  the  reason, 
he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  and  exclaimed  affectionately : 
"  Perrier !  " 

A  short  time  after :  "  Oh,  good  Perrier  !  .  ,  .  Where 
are  you  ?  Do  you  hear  your  name  ? " 

Because  in  looking  at  a  beautiful  sky  at  night,  the  dearest 
and  most  revered  names  spring  to  our  lips. 


A  BUNCH  OF  FLOWERS. 


"  CURED,  yes,  entirely  cured,  and  there  is  not  even  a  scar  ; 
look  and  see  if  you  can  find  one."  Thus  said  a  very  young 
officer  (whom  I  had  not  seen  for  fifteen  days  when  we  met  last 
year,  at  the  end  of  February,  in  the  house  of  a  lady  friend),  as 
he  put  out  his  hand  for  me  to  look  at.  I  glanced  at  it :  and 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  a  scar.  "And  the  other  man  ?"  I  asked. 
"Oh,  he  is  better,"  was  the  reply.  "Who?  Who  is  better? 
Who  has  been  ill  ? "  broke  in  the  lady  of  the  house,  coming  up 
to  us.  My  friend  and  I  exchanged  smiles.  "  Shall  I  tell  her  ? " 
asked  he.  "Yes,  I  would  do  so,  if  I  were  you." 

"  Well,  listen  then,"  began  my  friend,  turning  to  the  lady. 
"  Three  days  before  the  end  of  carnival,  one  evening  about 
five  o'clock,  I  was  standing  in  front  of  a  cafe  watching  the 
corso.  I  was  alone,  in  no  very  good  humor,  squeezed  into  the 
crowd,  quite  white  with  flour,  cursing  the  moment  when  I  had 
been  seized  with  the  idea  of  leaving  the  house  and  dashing  into 
the  midst  of  all  this  confusion.  From  time  to  time  a  cavalry 
soldier  passed  with  unsheathed  sword,  made  a  motion  to  the 
people  to  keep  back  in  order  not  break  up  the  corso,  and  ac- 
companied his  gesture  with  some  respectful  and  courteous 
words.  In  front  of  me  were  four  or  five  gamins,  who,  as  soon 
as  the  soldiers  passed,  dashed  into  the  middle  of  the  street, 
between  the  carriages,  and  fought  with  their  fists  for  the  com- 

128 


A   BUNCH  OF  FLOWERS.  1 29 

fits  and  flowers  which  were  scattered  over  the  pavement,  at  the 
risk  of  being  crushed  by  the  horses,  and  to  the  great  annoyance 
of  the  coachmen,  who,  in  order  to  get  on,  were  obliged  to  shout 
themselves  hoarse  in  telling  them  to  be  careful  and  get  out  of 
the  way.  One  of  the  soldiers  who  was  on  duty,  after  having 
warned  and  scolded  them  five  or  six  times,  seeing  that  they 
were  behaving  worse  and  worse,  lost  his  patience,  put  spurs  to 
his  horse,  and  raised  his  sword,  as  if  to  give  them  a  blow  on 
the  head,  which  he  certainly  never  had  any  real  idea  of  doing. 
A  gentleman  who  was  near  me,  seeing  this,  exclaimed  :  '  Ah  ! ' 
and  when  the  soldier  drew  his  sabre  back  to  his  shoulder, 
added  :  '  I  should  like  to  have  seen  him  do  it  !  '  Then,  turn- 
ing to  his  neighbor,  said  :  '  This  is  the  result  of  his  education — 
oppression  and  brutality.'  My  blood  boiled,  I  raised  one  hand, 
drew  it  back  and  thrust  it  into  my  pocket,  and  with  all  the 
calmness  of  which  I  was  capable,  and  in  the  most  courteous 
tone,  I  whispered  in  that  gentleman's  ear  :  '  What  education  ? ' 
The  gentleman  turned,  gave  a  start  of  surprise,  paled  ;  but  in- 
stantly recovered  himself,  and  answered  with  insolent  nonchal- 
ance :  '  The  military  education.'  I  neither  saw  him,  the 
crowd,  nor  the  corse,  and  I  do  not  recollect  what  I  said  or  he 
replied ;  I  only  remember  that  the  following  morning  I  re- 
turned home  with  a  wounded  hand,  and  my  friends  said  that 
that  gentleman  had  his  left  cheek  laid  open.  That  is  all.  I 
was  just  saying  that  my  hand  bore  no  sign  of  the  scratch,  and 
that  the  other  man  is  better." 

The  lady,  who  up  to  that  time  had  been  listening  very 
gravely,  raising  her  eyes  from  time  to  time,  and  exclaiming: 
"  Heavens  !  heavens  !  "  grew  more  cheerful  on  learning  of  the 
fortunate  ending  of  the  duel,  and  then  suddenly  broke  out  with 


130  MILITARY  LIFE. 

a  genuine  woman's  question  :  "  But  why  did  you  provoke  him  ? 
Would  it  not  have  been  better  to  have  pretended  not  to  hear  ?" 
My  friend  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  and  both  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Why  are  you  laughing  ? " 

"  Listen,  my  dear  lady,"  my  friend  replied.  "  Supposing 
(which  could  not  be  the  case)  that  I  ought  to  have  pretended 
that  I  did  not  hear,  how  could  I  have  done  so  when  my  blood  was 
boiling  and  my  head  in  a  ferment  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  knew 
what  I  was  doing  at  that  moment  ? " 

The  lady  did  not  appear  at  all  convinced. 

"  The  people  all  around  had  heard/'  continued  the  officer ; 
"  the  insult  was  one  that  touched  the  whole  army,  and  those 
words  were  a  lie ;  then,  just  on  that  occasion  the  lie  was  a  cal- 
umny, the  tone  of  voice  in  which  the  calumny  had  been  uttered 
sounded  like  a  provocation  ;  then  that  man,  as  I  afterward 
learned  (and  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise,  because 
these  are  words  which  reveal  a  man's  soul),  was  nothing  but 
a  ..." 

"  Silence  !     It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  know." 

"  Then  there  was  another  reason  still  why  these  words  offend- 
ed me  more  than  they  might  have  another  person.  And  the  rea- 
son is  this.  Listen.  Fourteen  years  ago  .  .  ." 

"  No  less  than  that !  " 

"  Listen ;  I  was  at  Turin  with  my  family  ;  and  only  seven 
years  old.  The  last  day  but  one  of  the  carnival  my  mother 
dressed  me  in  a  pretty  costume  of  blue  and  white  striped  silk, 
with  a  red  sash,  a  blonde  curly  wig,  and  a  green  velvet  cap, 
and  took  me  to  the  cor  so  in  a  carriage.  My  father  and 
a  friend  of  his,  a  major  in  the  artillery,  were  with  us.  We 


A  BUNCH  OF  FLOWERS.  131 

had  a  number  of  bouquets  and  a  large  basket  of  confetti. 
The  streets  were  crowded  with  people,  and  there  were  innu- 
merable carriages,  elegant  maskers,  a  great  confusion  and  noise, 
and  a  very  beautiful  corso.  My  mother,  according  to  her  cus- 
tom, took  no  part  in  the  gaiety  of  the  fete,  and  rarely  spoke. 
From  time  to  time,  when  the  carriage  of  some  friend  passed, 
she  put  a  bunch  of  flowers  into  my  hand  and  had  me  throw 
them,  holding  me  by  my  sash  so  that  I  should  not  fall  head 
first  in  flinging  them.  My  little  friends  threw  me  flowers  too, 
and  greeted  me  with  shouts,  laughing  heartily  at  my  grotesque 
costume.  I  laughed  at  them,  and  we  enjoyed  ourselves  to  our 
hearts'  content.  Much  more  than  now, — between  ourselves, — 
for  then  our  glances,  thoughts,  and  desires  were  not  attracted 
by  a  beautiful  masker  stretched  comfortably  out  in  a  carriage, 
with  a  small,  shapely  foot  swinging  cunningly  out  of  one  door 
and  a  debar  deur's  shirt  falling  on  one  side." 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"We  enjoyed  ourselves  hugely.  At  a  certain  point,  however, 
weary  with  shouting  and  swinging  my  arms  about,  I  sat  down 
to  take  breath.  At  the  entrance  of  Via  Po  and  Piazza  Cas- 
tello  there  was  a  file  of  cavalry  soldiers  and  carabineers,  as 
grave  and  motionless  as  if  they  were  at  a  funeral.  They  looked 
now  at  the  carriages,  now  at  the  people,  without  saying  a  word, 
exchanging  a  smile,  or  giving  the  slightest  sign  of  curiosity, 
pleasure,  regret,  or  ennui  ;  they  seemed  like  automatons.  The 
crowd  pressed  forward  on  every  side,  undulating,  mingling,  and 
making  a  great'  noise  ;  from  the  windows  of  the  neighboring 
house,  which  were  filled  with  ladies  and  maskers,  fell  showers 
of  comfits,  from  the  carriages  a  shower  up  at  the  windows,  and 
from  the  street  another  into  the  carriages.  It  was  a  fierce 


I32  MILITARY  LIFE. 

battle,  with  great  clouds  of  flour  which  veiled  every  thing, 
and  a  little  farther  on  the  band  was  playing,  almost  drowned 
by  the  racket  of  the  drums  and  trumpets  that  fairly  deafened 
one. 

" '  Poor  people  ! '  said  my  mother  to  the  major,  as  she  pointed 
to  the  soldiers.  '  They  never  fail ;  they  are  everywhere.  It  is 
not  enough  that  they  defend  us  from  our  enemies,  put  out 
fires,  quiet  riots,  and  protect  our  lives  and  our  property  ;  they 
protect  our  fetes  too,  and  secure  us  our  pleasures  ;  they  who 
have  neither  joys  nor  fetes,  and  suffer  so  much  and  make  so 
many  sacrifices  without  ever  gaining  any  thing  or  obtaining  any 
recompense,  not  even  any  consolation,  a  word  of  acknowledg- 
ment, or  a  thank  you.  The  people  do  not  as  much  as  look  at 
them  ;  we  are  every  thing  for  them,  they  nothing  for  us — abso- 
lutely nothing.' 

"  The  major,  solemn  as  a  judge,  replied  quite  gravely,  without 
even  looking  at  the  soldiers  :  '  That  is  true  ! ' 

" '  If  it  is  true  ! '  added  my  mother  quickly. — '  Look,  major  ; 
l<5ok  at  the  soldier  there,  the  first  one  on  this  side,  what  a  melan- 
choly air  he  has  !  Can  there  be  something  troubling  him  ? 
Does  he  feel  ill  ? ' 

"  '  Who  knows  ? '  replied  the  major,  smiling  slightly. 

" '  Who  knows  what  is  the  matter  with  him  ? '  repeated  my 
mother,  looking  at  him  pensively.  That  good  woman  is  so  con- 
stituted that  in  the  midst  of  all  the  racket  and  gaiety  of  a  fete, 
a  trifle  will  take  her  mind  from  all  that  surrounds  her,  and 
from  thought  to  thought  she  falls  into  a  state  of  sadness.  The 
carriage  went  on  and  my  mother  continued  talking  of  that  sol- 
dier ;  then  she  fell  to  thinking  again,  and  suddenly  said  :  '  If 
some  one  at  home  were  ill  ?  That  might  be  the  case  too. 


A  BUNCH  OF  FLOWERS.  133 

They  do  not  allow  him  to  go  home  when  one  of  his  family  is 
ill,  do  they,  major  ? ' 

"  *  It  is  rather  rare  ! '  replied  the  latter. 

"  '  Look  ! '  exclaimed  my  mother.  '  I  am  willing  to  wager 
that  that  is  what  makes  him  sad.  And  meanwhile  he  is  com- 
demned  to  stand  there  in  the  midst  of  all  those  people  who  are 
amusing  themselves  by  singing  and  shouting  ...  I  cannot 
get  him  out  of  my  mind.' 

"  The  major  smiled. 

" '  How  can  I  help  it  ? '  replied  my  mother  ;  '  I  was  born  so.' 

"  When  the  circuit  was  ended,  the  carriage  was  about  to  pass  by 
the  soldier  again.  My  mother,  seizing  the  moment  when  the 
major  and  my  father  were  not  looking,  handed  me  a  bunch  of 
flowers,  pointed  quickly  to  the  soldier,  and  whispered  in  my 
ear  :  '  Throw  it  to  him.'  I  rose  to  my  feet,  and,  held  as  usual 
by  my  sash,  prepared  to  fling  the  flowers.  '  You  said  that  one 
there,  did  you  not  ? '  I  asked  once  more.  '  Yes,  yes,  quick  ! ' 
We  were  seven  or  eight  steps  away  ;  the  carriage  stopped, 
went  on,  here  we  are.  '  Courage  ! '  said  my  mother.  '  There  he 
is  ! '  I  replied  proudly.  The  bouquet  had  described  a  beautiful 
curve  in  the  air,  and  fallen  right  on  the  breast  of  the  soldier,  be- 
tween the  buckle  of  his  belt  and  the  hand  which  held  the  reins. 
He  started  as  if  in  a  dream,  seized  the  bouquet  almost  involun- 
tarily, raised  his  eyes  with  surprise,  saw  me  ;  I  made  him  a  sign 
with  both  hands ;  he  smiled  and  looked  fixedly  at  me  until  the 
carriage  disappeared.  My  little  heart  beat  furiously ;  my 
mother  had  become  calm  ;  the  major  and  my  father  had  not 
seen  any  thing.  Before  making  another  circuit  we  left  the  corso 
and  went  home. 

"  I  saw  the  soldier  again,  ten  or  twelve  days  later,  in  the  pub- 


134  Jf/Z/  TAR  Y  LIFE. 

lie  gardens.  He  was  with  a  number  of  his  comrades,  and  was 
talking  and  laughing  heartily.  '  Look,  there  is  the  soldier  to 
whom  I  threw  the  bouquet ! '  I  said  to  my  mother,  pulling 
her  by  the  dress.  'Be  quiet,'  she  replied.  '  Do  not  take  any 
notice  of  him.'  I  could  not  understand  the  reason  for  this 
command  ;  I  looked  at  him ;  he  looked  fixedly  at  me,  and 
recognized  me,  started  with  surprise,  and  said,  '  Oh  ! '  My 
mother  seized  me  by  the  arm  and  dragged  me  on.  After 
that  day  I  did  not  see  him  for  more  than  a  year.  The  follow- 
ing year,  on  one  of  the  last  nights  of  carnival,  on  returning 
from  the  theatre  with  the  family,  I  went  to  the  window  a  few 
moments  before  going  to  bed,  and  stood  a  short  time  looking 
out  into  the  street  through  the  glass.  The  street  was  dark  and 
it  was  snowing.  From  time  to  time  maskers  kept  coming  out  of 
the  opposite  house,  which  was  a  cafe  and  hostelry  ;  they  scat- 
tered, followed  each  other,  disappeared ;  new  ones  arrived,  and 
meeting  and  recognizing  each  other  crowded  together,  making 
a  terrible  racket  with  their  shouts  in  the  falsetto,  and  con- 
fusedly exchanging  invitations  and  salutations.  A  band  of 
cavalry  appeared  at  that  point.  The  maskers  began  to  dance 
around  them,  shouting  and  clapping  their  hands  as  they  did  so. 
The  soldiers,  enveloped  in  their  mantles,  passed  on  without 
giving  any  sign  of  having  seen  them  ;  but  one  of  them  turned 
toward  our  house,  and  seemed  to  be  looking  at  my  window. 
'  Can  it  be  he  ?  '  I  thought,  as  I  opened  it.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment the  soldier  put  one  hand  out  from  under  his  mantle,  gave 
a  salute,  and  passed.  The  following  morning  I  learned  from 
the  porteress  that  some  days  before  a  cavalry  soldier  had  en- 
tered our  portico,  glanced  at  the  stairs  as  if  uncertain  whether 
he  would  go  up  or  not,  and  had  then  gone  away.  A  few 


A   BUNCH  OF  FLOWERS.  135 

months  later  I  heard  that  a  regiment  of  cavalry  had  left  Turin, 
and  I  did  not  see  my  soldier  again,  nor  did  I  think  of  him. 
Many  years  passed  ;  '59  arrived.  I  became  infatuated 
with  the  army,  and  manifested  to  my  father  my  intention  of 
embracing  a  military  career.  My  father  was  uncertain.  '  Fin- 
ish your  studies,'  he  said,  '  and  we  will  see  about  it.'  In 
August  of  '59  I  ended  them,  and  from  that  time  forward 
I  had  a  discussion  every  day  with  my  father  on  the  subject  of 
my  career.  As  time  went  on  he  seemed  less  disposed  to 
second  my  desires.  But  an  unforeseen  incident  settled  the 
question.  It  was  in  the  beginning  of  January,  '60.  One  morning 
I  sat  writing  at  a  table.  There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  a 
servant  came  to  say  that  some  one  wished  to  see  me.  '  Who 
can  it  be  ? '  I  said  to  my  mother.  I  rose,  she  followed  me, 
and  we  went  into  the  hall-way.  There  was  a  man  in  worktnan's 
clothes  at  the  door,  wearing  a  large  cloak,  a  fur  cap  on  his 
head,  and  looking  pale,  thin,  with  a  saddened  and  weary  air. 
'  He  does  not  even  raise  his  cap,'  muttered  the  servant  as  we 
entered.  The  unknown  visitor  looked  smilingly  at  me,  and 
said  :  '  Is  it  you  ? '  giving  my  Christian  and  surname. 

" '  Yes,'  I  replied. 

" '  I  am  a  poor  young  fellow  who  is  left  without  work  ;  I  have 
been  a  soldier,  and  if  you  could  help  me  in  some  way.  ..." 

"  My  mother  and  I  consulted  each  other  with  a  glance. 

"  '  Give  me  something,'  added  the  man  in  a  tone  of  supplica- 
tion. 

"  I  took  and  handed  him  in  spite  of  myself  a  couple  of  francs, 
saying  as  I  did  so  :  '  Take  this.' 

"  '  Will  you  put  it  into  my  pocket  ? ' 

"  '  Into  your  pocket !  '  I  exclaimed,  half  surprised,  half  of- 


136  MILITARY  LIFE, 

fended.  But  his  glance  produced  a  strange  effect  upon  me  ;  I 
looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  placed  the  money 
in  the  pocket  of  his  cloak. 

"' Thanks,'  he  replied  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion.  'And  now, 
as  I  am  going  home,  I  beg  you  to  accept  a  memento  of  me.' 

"  My  mother  and  I  turned  to  each  other  in  astonishment. 

"  'Will  you  accept  it,  sir  ?'  he  asked  timidly,  in  an  affection- 
ate tone. 

"  '  Let  us  see  it,'  I  replied. 

"  '  Here  it  is,'  he  said,  and  opening  his  cloak  with  his  elbows, 
he  showed  me  with  his  eyes  a  bunch  of  flowers  that  were  fast- 
ened into  a  button-hole  of  his  vest. 

"  '  Ah,  it  is  the  soldier  in  the  corso  \ '  cried  my  mother. 

"  '  He  ! '  I  exclaimed  impetuously,  and  I  dashed  forward  to 
embrace  him  ;  the  cloak  fell ;  my  mother  uttered  a  cry  of  ter- 
ror :  '  My  God  ! ' 

"  '  What  is  the  matter  ? '  I  asked,  turning  around.  At  the 
same  time  I  saw  that  the  poor  fellow  had  no  hands. 

"  He  had  lost  them  at  San  Martino. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  it  happened  ;  but  from  that  day  forward 
my  desire  to  be  a  soldier  changed  into  a  firm  resolution  to  do 
so.  It  seemed  almost  like  an  act  of  homage  to  that  poor  young 
fellow  to  don  the  military  uniform.  And  behold  me  a  soldier. 
This  is  the  reason  why  every  time  I  see  a  soldier  of  the  cavalry 
at  the  corso  I  feel  my  heart  beat  as  if  for  a  friend,  and  I  wish 
to  be  a  child  in  order  to  throw  him  a  bunch  of  flowers." 

"  And  that  soldier  ?  "  asked  the  lady  quickly. 

"  He  died." 

"  Where  ? " 

"  At  our  house,  in  my  arms,  in  the  presence  of  my  mother, 
with  a  little  bunch  of  flowers  at  his  pillow." 


A    NOCTURNAL     MARCH. 


WHAT  a  night  !  No  moon,  no  stars,  pitch  darkness.  There 
never  was  such  utter  gloom  seen  before.  Though  it  was 
only  the  first  of  October,  a  fresh  autumn  breeze  was  blowing, 
which  whipped  sharply  across  the  face,  under  the  clothes,  and 
shrivelled  the  skin.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  ; 
the  regiment  had  folded  the  tents  and  was  drawn  up  across  the 
field,  their  arms  at  their  feet,  awaiting  the  orders  for  departure. 
The  soldiers,  just  awakened  from  a  short  and  uncomfortable 
sleep,  all  stood  there,  doubled  up,  bent  over,  shivering,  with  a 
bitter,  discontented  expression  of  face,  their  hands  in  their 
pockets,  the  muskets  leaning  against  their  arms  ;  and  instead 
of  the  usual  chatting,  so  lively  and  gay,  nothing  was  to  be 
heard  but  an  occasional  subdued  and  listless  whisper.  The 
darkness  was  so  great  that,  in  looking  at  the  camp  from  the 
road,  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  the  long  line  of  lanterns  hung 
from  the  end  of  the  muskets,  each  one  of  which  lighted  up 
three  or  four  sleepy  faces.  Over  there,  in  the  corner  of  the  field, 
beyond  the  extreme  flank  of  the  regiment,  many  little  lights  were 
to  be  seen  moving  about  in  a  small  space,  and  these  served  to 
illumine  dimly  a  confused  bustle  of  people  (differently  dressed) 
around  certain  carts  and  boxes — the  baggage  of  the  sutler. 
Here  and  there  through  the  field  a  few  little  flames  still  gleamed; 
they  were  the  last  sparks  of  the  fire  which  the  soldiers  had 

i37  '/ 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

lighted  with  the  straw  of  the  tents,  to  take  off  the  dampness 
contracted  in  sleeping  on  the  ground.  Every  thing  else  was 
in  darkness. 

Suddenly  a  loud  beating  of  drums  is  heard  ;  then  silence 
follows.  The  companies  face  about,  each  in  turn  ;  the  first 
lines  move,  and  the  regiment  starts.  After  passing  a  narrow 
little  bridge  over  the  ditch  which  separates  the  field  from  the 
road,  the  lines  close  up,  and  a  mass  of  lights  are  seen  moving 
now  forward,  now  backward,  according  to  the  motion  of  the 
crowd,  and  start  up  two  by  two,  extend  on  the  sides  of  the 
straight  road  in  a  double  line,  and  little  by  little  sink  in  the 
distance  into  two  luminous  streaks  which  wind  and  undulate 
like  two  great  reins  of  fire  shaken  at  the  end  of  the  column. 

On  they  march,  and  for  a  short  time  is  heard  a  subdued 
chatting,  which  gradually  dies  away  into  profound  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  rough  voices  of  the  officers  who  grumble, 
"  Order  ! "  every  time  that,  casting  their  sleepy  eyes  on  the 
soldiers  nearest  the  lanterns,  they  discover  a  little  falling  apart 
or  crowding  in  the  lines.  All  the  others  are  silent.  Nothing 
is  audible  but  the  dragging  noise  of  the  foot-falls,  and  the  mo- 
notonous clinking  of  the  tin  boxes,  which  keep  time  to  the 
measured  tread. 

As  the  silence  increases,  sleep  (that  tormenting  and  terrible 
companion  of  nocturnal  marches)  begins  to  take  possession  of 
all.  Unfortunate  he  who  is  seized  by  it  !  No  former  rest,  nor 
chat  with  friend,  nor  strong  liquor,  nor  effort  of  will  can  con- 
quer it ;  he  must  give  up  to  it  entirely. 

Look  at  that  officer  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  He  has  been 
struggling  with  sleep  for  more  than  an  hour  ;  but  now  his  eye- 
lids, trembling  and  heavy,  are  closing  irresistibly  ;  his  knees  are 


A  NOCTURNAL  MARCH.  139 

bending  under  him  ;  his  head,  raised  by  force,  falls  again  heavily 
on  his  chest,  and  his  arms  hang  inert  and  powerless.  His  mind, 
little  by  little,  wanders  ;  ideas  grow  confused,  and  melt  curiously 
into  one  another.  To  his  eyes  veiled  by  sleep,  the  soldiers  who 
are  walking  before  and  beside  him  stagger  confusedly  along  ; 
and  the  trees  and  houses  on  either  side  of  the  way,  (whose  dark 
outlines  are  scarcely  discernible)  present  strange,  shapeless, 
wonderful  aspects  to  him.  Sometimes  he  still  follows  with  his 
eyes  the  walls  of  a  house  when  they  have  already  been  left  be- 
hind, or  he  seems  to  see  a  house  or  clump  of  trees  where  there 
are  none.  At  another  moment,  there  suddenly  appears  before 
him,  right  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  directly  in  his  path,  a 
great  obstacle,  a  large  black  thing,  which  he  cannot  make  out, 
but  he  sees  it ;  there  it  is,  right  there,  and  he  is  just  about  to 
hit  it  with  his  head  ;  he  stops,  stretches  out  his  arm,  shakes  it 
— nothing — there  was  nothing  ;  so  on  he  goes.  Thirty,  fifty,  a 
hundred  steps,  then  he  begins  to  dose  again.  This  time  he 
dreams.  He  seems  to  be  walking  alone,  in  some  unknown  direc- 
tion, or  to  be  in  another  place,  far  from  there,  perhaps  at  home, 
among  other  people,  in  the  daytime.  .  .  .  Suddenly,  the 
sound  of  the  foot-falls  of  those  around  him  strikes  his  ear ;  he 
becomes  aware  of  the  clinking  of  the  canteens  ;  wakes,  glances 
around,  comes  to  himself,  yawns,  falls  into  step,  and, — shortly 
afterward, — the  whole  thing  begins  again.  With  his  head  on 
his  chest,  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  the  other  on  the  handle  of 
his  sword,  he  goes  on,  leaning  on  it,  in  unequal  paces  and 
springs,  tottering,  winding  along,  three  steps  here,  four  there, — 
five, — six, — a  stumble  into  the  knapsack  of  a  soldier.  He 
starts,  wakes,  looks  around  with  staring  eyes,  comes  to  himself 
again,  is  ashamed  of  himself,  shakes  his  head  as  if  out  of  pity 


I4O  MILITARY  LIFE. 

for  his  sufferings,  and  then  resumes  his  way  with  a  free  and 
hurried  gait.  After  a  hundred  more  paces,  the  same  thing 
occurs  again.  He  dashes  into  a  person  who  is  walking  in  front 
of  him,  wakes,  looks  :  "  Oh  !  excuse  me,  captain." — "  Don't 
mention  it,  pray  !  These  are  things  that  happen  to  all." 

A  companion  comes  close  to  you.  You  walk  for  a  short 
time,  without  being  conscious  of  it,  side  by  side.  Then  :  "Are 
you  there  ?  "  A  grunt  is  your  reply.  "Are  you  sleepy  ?  "  "A 
little.  Give  me  your  arm."  The  arm  is  given.  Shoulder  to 
shoulder,  hip  to  hip,  and  forward  you  go  as  best  you  can, 
staggering  and  stumbling.  Eight,  ten,  twenty  paces,  sleep 
seizes  you  both,  and  your  heavy  heads  fall  on  the  same  side 
and  come  into  contact  with  each  other.  "  Ahi !  "  Then  you 
separate. 

All  round  about  is  quiet ;  the  pitch  darkness  continues,  the 
two  long  lines  of  light  keep  waving  along  the  sides  of  the  road, 
and  there  is  always  the  same  monotonous  clinking  of  the  can- 
teens. 

Suddenly,  an  irritable  voice  bursts  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
line  :  "  Up  with  that  light  there  !  "  and  the  soldier  who  is  car- 
rying the  lantern,  and  who,  overcome  by  sleep,  had  slackened 
his  arm  and  let  the  musket  fall  on  the  head  of  the  man  behind 
him,  wakes,  draws  up  his  arm,  and  raises  the  light. 

A  few  steps  more,  and  a  long  and  sonorous  yawn,  like  the 
braying  of  an  ass,  breaks  the  silence.  Two  or  three  voices  try  to 
imitate  it ;  there  is  a  laugh,  and  all  are  silent. 

A  few  steps  more,  and  a  shrill  voice  attempts  a  song.  An 
outburst  of  protests  and  disapprobation  rises  from  the  lines. 
"  Leave  that  alone  ! "  At  another  moment :  "  Sleep  in  peace." 
And  the  unfortunately  inspired  singer  drives  back  into  his  throat 
the  rest  of  the  song,  and  is  silent. 


A  NOCTURNAL  MARCH.  141 

Twenty  paces  more,  and  one  hears  a  sharp  cry,  followed  by 
a  raging  outburst  of  oaths.  "  What  's  the  matter  ? "  "  Who  is 
it  ? "  It  is  a  soldier  who,  overcome  by  sleep,  has  dashed 
violently  against  a  mile-stone  with  his  shin.  And  on  all  sides  : 
"  Look  out  where  you  are  going."  "  I  should  think  so  ;  he 
is  walking  with  his  eyes  shut."  "  You  caught  it,  eh  ?  Keep 
it!" 

A  little  later,  a  great  laugh  breaks  out  at  the  end  of  the  col- 
umn, and  an  "  Uh ! "  prolonged  into  a  tone  of  mockery. 
"What's  happened?"  ''What  has  happened?"  "Who  is 
it?"  "It  's  only  a  poor  devil  of  a  soldier  who  was  walking 
along  the  edge  of  the  road,  dozing  and  staggering,  and  so 
ended  by  tumbling  into  the  ditch."  "  Is  it  deep  ? "  "  Who  can 
see  ?  "  "  Let 's  look."  "  Courage,  courage  (an  officer)  ;  what 
are  you  doing  there  ?  Go  on.  He  '11  get  up  himself.  And 
will>w  hold  that  light  up  ?  " 

Then  silence,  and  forward,  and  increasing  darkness,  and  freez- 
ing, biting  wind,  which  scourges  one's  face  and  sets  one  shiv- 
ering, continue. 

"  Oh,  this  drowsiness  !  "  "  What  time  can  it  be  ? "  "  Ten, 
perhaps,  may  be  later."  "What  a  night !  "  "One  can't  see  a 
thing."  "  Oh  !  I  say,  friend,  how  long  have  we  been  march- 
ing? .  .  ,  Speak.  How  long?"  "He  's  asleep  and 
does  not  hear  any  thing  ;  he  '11  break  his  neck  in  a  minute 
more."  .  .  .  "I'm  sleepy  too.  Ah,  to  be  able  to  sleep." 
"  Well,  time  is  passing  with  him  !  What  a  nuisance  not  to  be 
able  to  see  any  thing !  If  I  could  only  sleep  on  foot.  .  .  . 
I  might  try,  do  you  say?  Phew  !  how  sleepy  I  am,  how  sleepy 
I  am,  great  heavens  !  .  .  .  the  night  is  dark.  .  .  dark 
.  .  .  and  the  wind  ...  to  sleep  .  .  ." 


142  MILITARY  LIFE. 

A  moment  more  and  he  will  fall  into  the  ditch.  A  blast  of 
the  trumpet,  "  Halt !  "  He  's  escaped  it.  Down  they  all  go 
like  so  many  dead  bodies ;  they  fall  where  they  can,  on  to 
stones,  among  thorns,  into  the  mud,  wherever  it  may  happen 
to  be  ;  every  thing  is  comfortable,  every  thing  clean,  soft,  de- 
licious !  There,  on  a  pile  of  stones,  on  one  side  of  the  road,  an 
entire  squad  has  pitched  itself  down  in  a  heap,  one  on  top  or 
across  the  other,  just  as  it  happens  ;  the  barrel  of  the  guns  un- 
der the  neck,  the  leather  bottle  of  a  comrade  under  the  head, 
a  corporal's  foot  in  the  face,  the  knapsack  of  another  man 
against  the  hip  ;  and  the  hand,  sometimes,  in  the  grass,  in  some- 
thing damp  and  soft.  .  .  .  But  what  a  heap  !  The  luxury 
of  sleep  is  so  great,  so  sweet,  and  powerful,  that  one  cannot 
pay  any  attention  to  any  thing,  but  the  utter  enjoyment  and 
abandonment  of  soul  and  body  to  it.  Oh,  the  sweetness  of  the 
final  gratification  of  a  long  and  harrassing  desire  !  A  sense  of 
languid  pleasure  and  gentle  exhaustion  steals  over  the  frame. 
.  .  .  "  Oh,  what  bliss  !  We  sleep." 

If  a  ray  of  moonlight  could  fall  for  a  moment  on  to  that 
point  of  the  road,  what  a  strange  spectacle  would  greet  our 
eyes  !  It  looks  like  a  heap  of  bodies  thrown  carelessly  down  : 
some  face  upward,  others  face  downward,  some  stretched  out, 
others  doubled  up,  and  here  and  there  arms,  legs,  feet,  and 
muskets,  which  protrude  between  the  legs  and  arms  of  others 
still ;  a  muddle,  in  fact,  in  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  dis- 
cover to  whom  the  different  members  belong.  At  first,  there 
is  a  slight  movement,  a  little  struggling  in  that  mass  of  human 
bodies  ;  each  one  is  seeking,  quite  gently,  the  most  comfortable 
position,  and  this  gives  rise  to  a  little  squabbling :  "  Get  over 
there  !  Blood  of  Bacchus ! "  "  Out  of  the  way  with  that  foot ! " 


A   NOCTURNAL  MARCH.  143 

"  Draw  in  that  leg  ;  don't  you  see  you  are  sticking  it  into  my 
face  ? "  But  it  is  only  the  affair  of  a  moment,  and  then  all  are 
quiet.  A  deep,  full  sleep  takes  possession  of  each.  At  first 
a  quick,  heavy  breathing  is  heard  ;  then  a  feeble,  broken  sigh- 
ing ;  then  a  dull,  rattling  moaning  ;  and,  finally,  a  general  snor- 
ing in  every  key,  bass,  baritone,  soprano,  harmonious  and  dis- 
sonant, shrill  and  sonorous — an  infernal  style  of  music,  in  fact. 

A  blast  of  the  trumpet ;  it  is  the  Attention  ! 

In  that  group  no  one  hears  it  ;  no  one  stirs  ;  all  are  quiet  and 
motionless  as  dead  bodies.  Another  blast ;  which  has  no  effect ; 
all  as  motionless  as  before.  "  I  '11  make  them  get  up,  now  ! " 
says  a  menacing  voice  above  the  sleepers.  At  that  voice,  behold 
a  leg  is  straightened  there,  an  arm  outstretched  here,  farther  on 
a  head  moves  more  this  way,  a  body  writhes,  as  is  the  case 
when  a  group  of  snakes  turn  slowly  in  the  heat  of  the  sun. 
"  Shall  we  get  up  or  not  ?  "  the  first  voice  repeats  more  angrily 
than  before.  One  of  the  sleepers  rises  to  a  sitting  posture, 
another  rubs  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  another  feels 
around  for  his  cap,  a  fourth  is  already  on  his  feet,  and  a  fifth 
and  a  sixth  ...  all  are  up  :  "  Oh,  at  last  !  "  "  What 
misery,  what  a  torment  to  be  waked  so  roughly,  and  to  be 
obliged  to  get  up  just  when  one  was  beginning  to  enjoy  the 
sleep  !  "  "  Where  's  my  cap  ? "  "  And  my  musket  ? "  ''  Say,  give 
me  my  cap."  "  This  is  mine."  "  No,  it  is  n't ;  that  other  one  's 
yours."  "  Whose  musket  is  this  ? "  "  Mine,  give  it  me."  "  Go 
and  find  the  little  tassel,  now !  "  and  they  search,  scrape,  and 
poke  here  and  there  among  the  stones  on  the  road,  down  in 
the  ditch,  in  the  grass  and  bushes,  breathless,  puffing,  swearing. 
.  .  .  The  trumpet  sounds  again  and  the  regiment  starts. 

It  is  dark  still,  and  the  same  chilly  wind  which  freezes  the 


144  MILITARY  LIFE. 

face  and  shrivels  the  skin  keeps  on  blowing.  "Heavens  !  how 
cold  it  is  when  one  stands  still!  it  makes  one  shiver."  The 
lanterns  are  all  extinguished  ;  an  Egyptian  darkness  reigns. 
Who  knows  in  what  confusion  these  rascals  may  be  marching  ! 
It 's  lucky  for  them  that  they  cannot  be  seen." 

After  a  half  hour's  silent  march,  some  man  begins  to  distin- 
guish far,  far  away,  a  little  trembling  light,  which  disappears 
now  and  then  and  reappears  like  a  fire-fly.  "  What  can  it  be  ? 
Let  's  go  on,  on,  a  little  farther,  another  bit."  The  small  light 
disappears  no  longer  ;  it  seems  larger  and  burns  more  brightly. 
"  Do  you  see  it  ? "  "  It  's  the  lantern  at  the  head  of  the  regi- 
ment." "  No,  no,  it  's  a  town."  "  But  what  place  !  "  On,  on, 
on,  we  go.  "Ah  !  .  .  .  You  are  right,  it  is  a  place."  The  rumor 
spieads  ;  those  dozing  rouse  themselves  ;  the  sleepers  wake  ;  a 
little  whisper  starts  up.  "  Heaven  be  praised  ;  here  are  the 
houses,  the  principal  street,  and  we  have  entered." 

The  hour  is  late  ;  the  streets  are  almost  deserted,  the  tread 
of  the  regiment  resounds  distinctly  in  that  solitude,  and  a 
whispering  is  heard  on  the  right  and  left  in  those  dark  and 
crooked  streets.  Small  ugly  houses  here  and  there,  all  closed 
and  barred,  as  if  it  were  an  abandoned  village.  But  as  we 
proceed,  to  the  left  and  right,  on  the  ground-floor  some  little 
doors  half  open  so  that  we  see  the  hearths  gleaming  inside,  or  the 
head  of  some  half-dressed  woman  stuck  timidly  out ;  the  children 
run  to  the  threshhold,  and  in  the  upper  stories  now  and  then  a 
curtain  is  raised,  a  light  shines  through,  and  behind  the  window- 
panes  appears  a  dark  figure  which  looks  down  to  see  what  this 
unusual  commotion  means.  .  .  .  Ah !  that  black  figure 
may  have  just  sprung  from  the  bed,  where  it  was  sleeping,  and 
it  will  soon  go  back  to  resume  delightfully  its  quiet,  gentle 


,,  ^, 


That  was  a  large  cafe,  lighted  and  gleaming  with  mirrors,  full 
of  staff-officers,  aides-de-camp,"  etc. 

(Page  145.) 


A   NOCTURNAL  MARCH.  145 

slumbers.  Oh,  that  bed  !  We  can  almost  see  it  ;  it  seems  as  if 
the  fold  of  the  sheet  stretched  over  the  bolster  was  before  our 
eyes,  and  that  we  could  pass  our  hands  over  it,  and  perceive 
the  fragrant  freshness  of  the  linen  just  from  the  wash.  Oh, 
fortunate  person  who  sleeps  in  there  !  When  shall  we  too  have 
our  beds  !  Happy  and  blessed  are  they  who  have  one  ! 

The  street,  narrow  and  tortuous  at  first,  becomes  straighter 
little  by  little,  broadens,  widens,  and  comes  out  on  a  square. 
The  beautiful  square.  Two  lines  to  the  right,  two  to  the  left : 
all  look  around  them.  Here  and  there  are  groups  of  curious 
people,  some  shops  open,  there  a  church,  here  the  house  of  the 
Syndic,  a  fountain,  an  arcade,  and  over  yonder  .  .  .  oh, 
...  .  how  tantalizing,  a  cafe  ! 

A  strange  but  veritable  emotion !  Cross  a  village  in  the 
night,  after  a  long  and  painful  march  ;  pass,  weary,  exhausted, 
thirsty,  covered  with  dust  and  dirt,  unaccustomed  for  some 
time  to  any  pleasant  habit  or  amusement  of  city  life, — pass  be- 
fore a  cafe,  and  your  heart  will  beat  with  a  certain  tenderness, 
a  certain  melancholy  longing,  almost  with  a  sad  pity  for  your- 
self, and  you  will  cast  into  that  cafe  an  eager,  envious, 
bitter  look  of  passionate  love,  as  children  do  ;  and  you  will  re- 
tain for  a  long  time  in  your  mind  the  image  of  the  place,  ob- 
jects, and  persons  seen. 

That  was  a  large  cafe,  lighted  and  gleaming  with  mirrors,  full 
of  staff -officers,  aides-de-camps,  covered  with  gold  and  silver 
medals,  plumes,  trinkets,  and  crosses  ;  some  inside,  some  at 
the  door,  others  out  on  the  square,  all  gesticulating  continu- 
ously with  arms  and  legs,  and  noisily  trailing  their  swords 
along.  A  dense  cloud  of  smoke  enveloped  every  thing ;  we 
could  see  and  hear  a  great  drawing  of  beer-corks,  a  running 


146  MILITARY  LIFE. 

hither  and  thither  of  waiters,  red  in  the  face,  utterly  breath- 
less and  confused  by  the  unusual  splendor  and  invasion  of 
customers  ;  a  wild  coming  and  going  from  the  interior  to 
the  tmtside,  from  the  exterior  to  the  interioi,  calling  to  one 
another,  and  vicing  with  each  other,  until  they  had  completely 
lost  their  heads.  Befpre  the  door  was  a  crowd  of  people  with 
wide-stretched  eyes  and  mouth,  gazing  at  the  broadest  galloons 
and  breasts  most  covered  with  medals.  At  the  back  of  the 
cafe,  quite  at  the  end,  in  a  corner  behind  a  table,  surrounded 
by  a  younger  set  of  officers,  on  a  raised  seat,  in  a  species  of 
niche  or  temple,  was  the  beautiful  little  face  of  a  girl,  over 
which  modesty  and  coquetry  were  amicably  disputing  the 
space,  amid  so  many  unusual  compliments,  so  many  gentle- 
manly courtesies,  passionate  protests,  audacious  petitions,  and 
such  a  twisting  and  turning  of  slender  waists  and  legs  incased 
in  buckskin. 

All  eyes  are  fastened  upon  that  lovely  figure,  beautiful  face, 
and  there  they  rest  until  she  disappears  from  view.  They  are 
no  sensuous  thoughts,  images,  or  desires  which  she  awakens  at 
that  moment ;  oh,  no,  although  she  arouses  in  our  hearts  (like 
a  weary  desire  for  peace  and  affection)  a  vague  melancholy, 
and  we  suddenly  feel  ourselves  alone,  abandoned  and  discour- 
aged. The. woman  recalls  to  our  memory  the  gentle,  quiet 
pleasures  of  domestic  life,  which,  in  comparison  with  our  hard 
life  as  soldiers,  especially  at  those  hours  and  moments  in 
which  we  only  experience  the  discomforts  and  bitterness,  not 
the  consolations  nor  the  proud  satisfactions,  of  such  an  exist- 
ence make  us  seem  almost  unhappy.  That  woman's  face 
rouses  in  our  minds  the  image  of  our  mother,  sister,  or  some 
one  dearer  still ;  and,  when  it  flees  from  our  sight,  we  bow 


A  NOCTURNAL  MARCH.  147 

our  heads,  think,  grow  sad ;  those  shadows  seem  to  weigh  on 
our  chests,  c«t  off  our  breath  ;  we  look  and  look  again  at 
the  sky  to  see  if  it  is  growing  light ;  and  in  that  melancholy 
wandering  of  the  fancy,  it  seems  as  if  we  would  gladly  go  to 
sleep  for  ever,  could  we  only  see  once  more  our  mother  or  the 
sun.  .  .  . 

The  regiment  is  outside  the  village.  The  same  darkness 
and  wind  continue.  Nothing  more  is  said  of  the  lights,  all 
of  which  have  been  extinguished  for  some  time.  Well  then  ? 
Shall  we  follow  the  regiment  to  the  station  in  this  cold  and 
gloom,  to  witness  the  repetition  of  the  scenes  that  we  have 
already  described  ?  Any  one  may  follow  who  pleases.  I  '11 
let  him  take  his  way,  hoping  that  he  may  find  a  good  camp, 
and  eat  a  luscious  orange,  enjoy  a  long  and  quiet  sleep,  be- 
cause, to  tell  the  truth,  these  poor  soldiers  need  and  deserve 
it  well. 


CARMELA. 


I. 

THE  affair  which  I  am  going  to  relate  occurred  in  a  small 
island,  about  seventy  miles  from  Sicily.  On  the  island  there  is 
only  one  town,  numbering  not  more  than  two  thousand  inhab- 
itants, in  which,  however,  there  were,  at  the  time  my  story  be- 
gins, three  or  four  hundred  prisoners  condemned  to  hard  labor, 
and  on  their  account,  there  was  stationed  there  a  detachment 
of  about  forty  soldiers  (commanded  by  a  subaltern),  who  were 
changed  every  three  months.  The  soldiers  led  a  very  agreea- 
ble life,  especially  for  these  two  reasons  :  that,  aside  from  the 
guard  at  the  barracks  and  prison,  some  reconnoitring  in  the 
interior  of  the  island,  and  a  little  drill  now  and  then,  they  had 
nothing  to  do ;  and  the  wine,  which  was  delicious,  cost  only 
four  sous  a  bottle.  I  say  nothing  of  the  officer,  who  enjoyed 
the  largest  liberty,  and  had  the  power  of-  saying  :  "  I  am  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  all  the  military  forces  of  the  country."  He 
had  at  his  disposal  two  gendarmes  in  the  quality  of  employes  at 
the  office  of  the  command  in  the  square,  a  beautiful  apartment 
furnished  gratuitously  in  the  centre  of  the  town  ;  passed  his 
mornings  hunting  in  the  mountains,  the  afternoons  in  a  little 
reading-room  with  the  principal  personages  of  the  place,  and 
the  evenings  in  a  boat  on  the  sea,  smoking  excellent  cigars  at 

148 


CARMELA.  149 

two  centimes  apiece,  dressed  just  as  his  fancy  dictated,  without 
any  annoyances,  or  superior  officers,  and  as  quiet  and  contented 
as  a  man  could  well  be.  Only  one  thing  there  was  to  trouble 
him,  and  that,  the  thought  that  such  a  delightful  life  could  only 
last  three  months. 

The  town  is  on  the  sea-shore,  and  has  a  small  harbor,  near 
which  a  postal  steamer,  plying  between  Tunis  and  Trapana, 
stopped  once  in  fifteen  days.  It  was  very  rarely  that  any  other 
boats  touched  there.  So  rare  indeed  was  this  occurrence,  that 
the  appearance  of  a  ship  headed  in  that  direction  was  an- 
nounced to  the  town  by  the  ringing  of  the  church  bell,  and  a 
good  portion  of  the  population  rushed  to  the  shore,  as  they 
would  have  done  to  some  spectacle. 

The  appearance  of  the  place  is  very  modest,  but  gay  and 
cmiling  ;  especially  in  the  large  square  in  its  centre,  which,  as 
in  all  villages,  is  to  the  populace  what  a  court-yard  would  be 
to  the  people  living  in  the  same  house  in  a  city.  This  square 
is  joined  to  the  shore  by  the  principal  street,  which  is  straight, 
narrow,  and  a  stone's-throw  in  length.  All  the  shops  and  pub- 
lic offices  are  in  the  square.  There  are,  or  at  least,  there  were, 
at  that  time,  two  cafes :  one  frequented  by  the  syndic  and 
other  authorities  and  gentlemen  ;  the  other  by  the  common 
people.  The  house  occupied  by  the  commander  of  the  detach- 
ment was  situated  on  the  side  of  the  square  toward  the  sea,  and 
as  the  ground  rises  considerably  from  the  shore  to  the  centre 
of  the  town,  from  the  windows  of  his  room  (there  were  two  of 
them)  one  could  see  the  port,  a  long  stretch  of  the  shore, 
the  sea,  and  the  distant  mountains  of  Sicily. 

The  island  is  all  volcanic  mountains,  and  great,  thick  resin- 
ous groves. 


1 5O  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

Three  years  ago,  one  beautiful  April  morning,  the  postal 
boat  for  Tunis  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  the  little  port. 

The  bell  had  been  ringing  from  the  moment  of  its  first  ap- 
pearance, and  the  entire  population  had  gathered,  among  which 
was  the  commander  of  the  detachment,  the  soldiers,  the  syn- 
dic, the  judge,  the  parish  priest,  the  delegate  of  public  security, 
the  receiver,  the  commander  of  the  port,  the  marshal  of  the 
carabineers,  and  a  young  military  physician  attached  to  the  de- 
tachment for  the  service  of  the  prisoners.  Two  large  boats  ap- 
proached the  ship,  and  took  and  brought  to  shore  thirty-two 
soldiers  of  the  infantry  and  an  officer,  a  handsome  young 
blonde,  of  pleasing  appearance,  who,  after  having  shaken  hands 
with  his  colleague,  and  replied  courteously  to  the  polite  welcome 
of  the  authorities,  entered  the  town  at  the  head  of  his  squad, 
between  the  two  lines  formed  by  the  spectators.  When  he  had 
quartered  the  men,  he  instantly  returned  to  the  group  of  per- 
sonages awaiting  him  in  the  middle  of  the  square,  and  the 
syndic  presented  them  to  him  one  by  one  in  a  serio-comic  way, 
full  of  cordial  familiarity,  tempered  with  a  little  innocent  air  of 
dignity.  When  this  ceremony  was  over,  the  group  separated, 
and  the  officer,  left  alone  with  his  colleague,  was  taken  to  the 
house  destined  for  him.  There,  the  orderly  of  the  officer  who 
was  leaving  was  engaged  in  packing  the  boxes,  and  that  of  the 
new  arrival  was  hastening  the  moment  for  the  opening  of  his  own 
by  lending  a  helping  hand  to  his  comrade.  An  hour  later 
every  thing  was  in  order. 

The  detachment  that  was  going  away  left  the  same  evening 
about  eight  o'clock,  accompanied  to  the  harbor  by  the  detach- 
ment that  remained,  and  our  officer,  after  bidding  farewell  to 
his  comrade,  returned  to  his  home  and  went  to  bed,  quite  worn 


CARMELA.  1 5 1 

out  with  his  journey,  and,  having  been  busy  all  day,  he  felt  a 
great  need  of  sleep.     And  sleep  he  did,  indeed  ! 

II. 

The  following  morning,  as  soon  as  the  sun  was  up,  he  left 
the  house.  He  had  not  gone  ten  paces  on  the  square  when  he 
felt  some  one  pull  lightly  at  his  coat.  He  stopped,  turned, 
and  saw,  a  couple  of  steps  away,  erect  and  immovable,  in  the 
attitude  of  a  soldier  giving  his  salute,  a  girl  with  rumpled  hair 
and  disordered  dress,  who  was  tall,  slender,  and  beautifully 
formed.  She  kept  two  great  black  eyes  fastened  on  the  officer's 
face,  and  smiled. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  "  the  latter  asked,  looking  around  with 
an  air  of  surprise  and  curiosity. 

The  girl  made  no  reply,  but  continued  to  smile  and  hold  her 
hand  against  her  forehead  in  a  military  salute. 

The  officer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went  on  another  ten 
steps,  and  another  slight  tug  at  the  coat.  He  stopped,  and 
turned  again.  The  girl  was  still  as  erect  and  immovable  as  a 
soldier  in  line.  He  looked  around  and  saw  some  one  near  by, 
who  was  watching  the  scene  and  laughing. 

"What  do  you  wish  ?"  he  asked  again. 

The  girl  stretched  out  her  hand,  with  her  forefinger  pointing 
to  him,  and  said,  smiling  : 

"  I  wish  you." 

"  Oh  !  I  understand,"  he  thought  ;  "  it  's  a  copper  she  is 
after,"  and  taking  a  few  sous  from  his  pocket,  he  held  them  out 
to  her,  turning  to  move  off.  But  the  girl,  folding  her  aims 
across  her  breast,  as  if  to  shield  herself  with  her  elbow  from 
the  hand  which  was  holding  the  money,  exclaimed  again  : 


152  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  I  want  you." 

Then  she  began  stamping,  rumpling  her  hair  with  her  two 
hands,  and  uttering  a  low,  monotonous  moan,  as  children  do 
when  they  are  pretending  to  cry.  The  persons  round  about 
laughed.  The  officer  looked  at  the  people,  then  at  the  girl, 
again  at  the  people,  and  proceeded  on  his  way.  He  had  nearly 
crossed  the  square  unmolested,  when,  on  reaching  the  opening 
of  the  street  leading  to  the  port,  he  heard  a  light,  rapid  step 
behind  him,  as  if  some  one  were  running  on  tip-toe,  and  as 
he  was  turning  around,  a  low  voice  murmured  with  a  strange 
tone  in  his  ear  :  "  My  treasure  !  " 

He  felt  a  shudder  run  from  head  to  foot ;  did  not  turn,  but 
hurried  on  with  quickened  pace.  Once  more  that  voice  mur- 
mured :  "  My  treasure  !  " 

"  Come  now,"  he  cried  out  angrily,  turning  entirely  around 
to  the  girl,  who  drew  back  timidly,  "  leave  me  in  peace.  Go 
about  your  business.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  grieved,  then  smiled,  moved  a  few  steps  for- 
ward, and,  stretching  out  her  arm  as  if  to  caress  the  officer,  who 
quickly  drew  back,  murmured  :  "  Don't  be  angry,  little  lieu- 
tenant." 

"  Go  away  I  tell  you." 

"  You  are  my  treasure." 

"  Go  away,  or  I  will  call  the  soldiers,  and  have  you  put  in 
prison."  And  he  pointed  to  some  soldiers  who  were  standing 
at  the  corner.  Then  the  girl  moved  off  slowly  sideways,  her 
eyes  always  turned  toward  the  officer,  putting  out  her  chin  from 
time  to  time,  and  repeating,  just  above  her  breath  :  "  Mv 
treasure  !  " 

"  What  a  pity  ! "  said  the  lieutenant  to  himself,  taking  the 
street  to  the  port ;  "  she  is  so  lovely." 


CARMELA.  153 

She  was  beautiful,  indeed  ;  one  of  the  superb  models  of  that 
proud  and  bold  beauty  peculiar  to  Sicilian  women,  the  love 
for  whom  is  rather  imposed  upon  you  than  inspired,  gen- 
erally, by  a  single  long  intent  glance,  that  seems  to  sink  to 
the  bottom  of  your  soul,  expressing  more  ardor  even  than  it 
awakens ;  the  eyes  and  hair  very  black,  the  forehead  broad 
and  pensive,  and  the  movements  of  the  brows  and  lips  instan- 
taneous, brusque,  full  of  expression  and  life.  Her  voice 
seemed  weary  and  hoarse,  and  her  laugh  convulsive.  After 
she  had  laughed  she  kept  her  mouth  open  and  her  eyes  wide- 
stretched  for  some  time. 

III. 

'Why  don't  they  keep  her  shut  up  ?"  asked  the  officer  that 
same  evening  of  the  doctor,  as  he  went  with  him  into  the  gen- 
tlemen's cafe,  after  having  told  him  what  had  occurred  in  the 
morning. 

"  And  where  would  you  have  her  shut  up,  pray  ?  She  has 
been  in  the  hospital  for  more  than  a  year,  and  the  municipality 
kept  her  there  at  its  own  expense ;  but  seeing  that  it  was  time 
and  money  wasted,  it  had  her  brought  home.  There  was  little 
or  nothing  to  hope  for  ;  the  physicians  there  were  the  first  to 
say  so.  Here,  at  least,  she  is  as  free  as  the  air,  poor  thing  ; 
and  that  can  easily  be  conceded  to  her,  because  she  gives 
no  trouble  to  any  one  but  the  military." 

"  And  why  to  the  military  ?" 

"  Well,  it  is  a  rather  vague  sort  of  a  story,  you  see. 
It  is  told  in  a  variety  of  ways  especially  among  the  com- 
mon people,  to  whom  the  simple  truth  is  not  sufficient, 
and  who  wish  to  add  something  themselves.  However,  the 


1 54  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

most  probable  fact,  confirmed  too  by  the  few  gentlemen  of 
the  place,  is  this  :  Three  years  ago,  an  officer  4  who  was  in 
command  of  the  detachment  as  you  now  are,  a  handsome 
fellow,  who  played  the  guitar  like  an  artist,  and  sang  like  an 
angel,  fell  in  love  with  the  girl,  who  was  then,  as  she  now  is, 
the  most  beautiful  one  in  the  town." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  interrupted  the  officer. 

"  And  the  girl  naturally  fell  in  love  with  him,  partly  on  ac- 
count of  his  charming  voice  (they  all  go  mad  about  music  here), 
partly  because  of  his  prestige  as  commander  of  all  the  military 
forces  on  the  island,  but  especially  as  he  was  a  handsome  fel- 
low. And  how  desperately  she  was  in  love  too  !  She  was  one 
of  those  fiery  characters  here,  you  understand,  who  was  more 
ardent  than  the  lava  of  volcanoes,  full  of  jealoasy,  spasms, 
furies,  and  tragedy.  Her  mother  was  the  only  remaining 
member  of  the  family,  a  poor  woman  who  only  saw  through 
her  eyes  and  was  ruled  by  her  entirely.  You  can  imagine 
what  full  liberty  she  enjoyed.  .  .  .  The  towns-peo- 
ple talked  ;  but  facts  have  proved  the  falsity  of  their  sus- 
picions (most  natural  in  themselves,  and  to  which  the  girl's 
conduct  gave  rise),  so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  all  believe  and 
affirm  that  there  was  really  nothing  out  of  the  way  in  it. 
.  .  .  It  is  very  strange  certainly  ;  indeed,  rather  incredible, 
because  it  is  said  that  the  two  were  together  half  days  at  a 
time.  But  you  know  there  are  such  characters,  especially  in 
these  places  ;  few  to  be  sure,  yet  they  do  exist.  Bold,  inde- 
pendent girls  who  are  under  their  lovers'  feet  all  day  long,  and 
do  not  seem  to  have  understood  any  thing  about  modesty  ;  as 
austere,  however,  and  tenacious  of  their  good  names  as  the 
vestal  virgins.  Though  the  fact  remains  that  the  officer  had 


CARMELA.  155 

promised  to  marry  her.  She  believed  him,  and  had  lost  her 
head  from  pure  content.  They  really  say,  you  know,  that  there 
were  days  when  it  was  thought  her  brain  was  affected.  I 
think  so  too.  Who  can  tell  what  point  the  love  of  women 
of  that  temperament  may  reach  ?  One  day,  if  they  had  not 
taken  a  girl  out  of  her  hands,  of  whom  she  had  become 
jealous  for  some  unknown  reason,  she  would  have  killed  or 
injured  her  severely.  Right  here,  in  front  of  the  cafe,  she 
had  seized  her,  in  the  presence  of  every  one,  and  it  was  a 
serious  affair,  I  assure  you.  Nor  was  it  the  only  one  either. 
No  woman,  in  passing  her  officer's  house,  was  allowed  to 
glance  up  at  the  window,  or  look  at  him  in  meeting  him 
in  the  street,  without  her  threatening  to  do  her  some  harm.  At 
last  the  day  for  the  change  of  the  detachment  arrived  ;  the 
officer  promised  that  he  would  return  in  a  few  months,  the 
girl  believed  him,  and  he  went  away  and  was  seen  no  more. 
The  poor  thing  fell  ill.  Perhaps,  in  getting  well  and  losing 
that  little  ray  of  hope  remaining,  she  might  have  forgotten 
him  ;  but  before  she  had  recovered  from  her  illness,  she 
learned,  I  don't  know  how,  that  her  lover  had  married.  The 
blow  was  unexpected,  and  was  terrible  in  its  effect.  She 
became  mad.  That  is  the  story." 

"  What  followed  ?  " 

"  Then,  as  I  told  you,  she  was  sent  to  the  hospital  in  Sicily  ; 
then  returned,  and  it  is  now  more  than-  a  year  since  she  has 
been  here." 

At  that  moment  a  soldier  came  to  the  door  of  the  cafe  in 
search  of  the  doctor. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  the  rest  later  ;  au  revoir  "  ;  saying  which  he 
disappeared.  The  officer,  rising  to  salute  him,  hit  his  sword 


1 56  MILITARY  LIFE, 

against  the  table.  At  that  moment  a  voice  was  heard  crying 
out  in  the  square  :  "  I  heard  it,  I  heard  it  !  He  is  there  ! " 
And  at  the  same  time  the  mad  girl  appeared  on  the  door-sill. 

"  Send  her  away  ! "  cried  the  officer,  bounding  quickly  to 
his  feet,  as  if  started  up  by  a  spring.  The  girl  was  sent  off. 

"  I  will  go  and  wait  for  him  at  home  !  "  they  heard  her  say 
as  she  moved  away  ;  "  I  will  go  and  wait  for  him  at  home,  my 
dear  little  officer  !  " 

Among  the  many  persons  present  was  one  who,  noticing  that 
impetuous  movement  and  his  changed  face,  whispered  to  his 
neighbors  :  "  Can  the  lieutenant  have  been  afraid  ?  " 

IV. 

Carmela's  mother  lived  in  a  wretched  house  at  the  end  of 
the  town,  together  with  two  or  three  families  of  peasants,  and 
earned  a  precarious  livelihood  by  sewing  on  linen.  At  first 
she  received  assistance,  from  time  to*  time,  from  the  well-to-do 
families  of  the  place  ;  but,  finally,  nothing  more.  Her  bene- 
factors had  seen  that  their  contributions  were  made  in  vain, 
for  the  girl  would  neither  eat  nor  sleep  at  home,  nor  was  there 
any  way  of  making  her  keep  a  dress  in  order  for  a  week. 
There  is  no  need  to  tell  how  much  the  mother  suffered,  or  how 
she  tried  with  untiring  patience  to  do  something  for  her 
daughter  each  day  ;  but  always  in  vain.  Sometimes,  after 
many  prayers,  she  would  allow  a  new  dress  to  be  put  on,  and 
then  suddenly  would  tear,  cut,  and  reduce  it  to  rags.  At 
others,  hardly  had  she  left  her  mother's  hands,  nicely  dressed 
and  cared  for,  when  she  would  dash  her  hands  through  her 
hair  and  in  a  moment  loosen  and  rumple  it  like  a  fury. 

She  spent  a  great  portion  of  the  day  in  wandering  among  the 


CARMELA.  157 

most  rocky  and  solitary  mountains,  gesticulating,  talking,  and 
laughing  loudly  to  herself.  Many  times  when  the  carabineers 
were  passing  those  localities,  they  saw  her  from  a  distance  quite 
intent  in  building  towers  with  stones,  or  seated  motionless  on 
the  summit  of  a  promontory  with  her  face  turned  toward  the 
sea,  or  stretched  sleeping  on  the  ground.  If  she  espied  them, 
she  followed  them  with  her  eyes  until  they  disappeared,  with- 
out replying  by  voice,  smile,  or  motion  to  any  sign  they  might 
have  made.  At  first,  sometimes  when  they  were  far  away,  she 
pretended  to  fire  at  them  with  her  two  hands  ;  but  her  face 
was  quite  serious  all  the  time.  So  it  was  with  the  soldiers,  with 
whom  no  one  had  ever  seen  her  talk  or  smile.  She  passed  be- 
fore them  or  among  them  without  replying  to  the  jokes  they 
flung  after  her,  turning  her  head,  or  looking  any  one  in  the  face. 
Nor  was  there  any  man  who  would  have  attempted  to  touch 
her  finger  or  pull  her  dress,  because  it  was  said  that  she  gave 
cuffs  that  left  the  imprint  of  her  fingers  on  their  faces. 

However  it  may  have  been,  she  made  her  appearance  as  soon 
as  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  drum.  The  soldiers  left  the  town 
to  go  and  drill  on  the  sea-shore,  and  she  followed  them.  While 
the  sergeants  commanded,  and  the  officer,  at  a  distance,  looked 
on,  she  would  withdraw  and  mimic  with  the  greatest  gravity 
the  attitudes  of  the  soldiers,  and  imitate  with  a  little  stick  the 
movements  of  the  muskets,  repeating  the  command  in  a  low 
voice.  Then,  suddenly,  she  would  throw  away  the  stick  and 
go  and  lounge  around  the  officer,  looking  and  smiling  lovingly 
at  him,  and  calling  him  by  the  sweetest  and  tenderest  names, 
in  a  low  voice,  however,  covering  her  mouth  with  her  hand  so 
that  the  soldiers  should  not  hear  her. 

When  she  was  in  the  town  she  almost  always  stood  on  the 


158  MILITARY  LIFE. 

square  in  front  of  the  officer's  house,  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of 
boys  whom  she  amused  with  every  sort  of  buffoonery.  Now 
she  would  make  a  high  hat  of  paper  with  a  large  brim,  put  it 
sideways  on  her  head,  and,  leaning  on  a  large  stick  and  grum- 
bling in  a  nasal  voice,  imitate  the  gait  of  the  syndic.  Now 
with  some  tags  of  paper  in  her  hair,  her  eyes  lowered,  her 
mouth  tightly  closed,  moving  one  hand  as  if  using  a  fan,  and 
swaying  her  body  gently,  she  caricatured  the  few  ladies  in  the 
place  when  they  went  to  church  on  fete  days.  At  other  times, 
picking  up  before  the  door  of  the  barracks  an  old  cap  thrown 
away  by  some  soldier,  she  would  put  it  on,  draw  it  down  to 
her  ears,  hide  all  her  hair  under  it,  and  then  with  folded  arms 
make  the  circuit  of  the  square  two  or  three  times,  in  slow  and 
measured  steps,  imitating  with  her  voice  the  sound  of  the 
drum,  as  serious,  stiff,  and  erect  as  one  of  the  hardest  con- 
scripts. But  whatever  she  did  or  said,  the  people  paid  no 
more  attention  to  her.  The  boys,  especially  the  gamins, 
were  her  only  spectators.  However,  their  mothers  tried  to 
keep  them  away  from  her,  because  one  day,  contrary  to  her 
habit,  and  who  knows  for  what  caprice,  she  had  seized  one  of 
them,  a  boy  about  eight,  the  prettiest  of  her  spectators,  and 
had  given  him  so  many  furious  kisses  on  his  forehead  and 
neck,  that  he  became  frightened  and  began  to  cry  and  shriek 
for  fear  she  would  suffocate  him. 

Once  in  a  great  while  she  would  enter  the  church,  kneel, 
and  join  her  hands  like  the  others,  then  mumble  some  un- 
known words  ;  but  a  few  moments  later  she  would  begin  to 
laugh,  assume  queer  attitudes,  and  make  such  strange  and  ir- 
reverent gestures,  that  the  sacristan  ended  by  taking  her  by  the 
arm  and  leading  her  out. 


CARMELA.  159 

She  had  a  beautiful  voice,  and  when  she  was  herself  sang 
well ;  but  since  her  brain  had  been  affected  she  only  hummed 
inarticulately  and  monotonously,  generally  when  seated  on  her 
own  door-step,  or  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  of  the  lieutenant's 
house,  nibbling  Indian  figs,  which  were,  as  one  might  say,  her 
chief  nourishment. 

She,  too,  had  her  melancholy  hours,  in  which  she  did  not 
talk  or  laugh  with  any  one,  not  even  with  the  children,  and  she 
generally  stayed  curled  up  like  a  dog  at  the  house-door,  with 
her  head  enveloped  in  her  apron,  or  her  face  covered  with  a 
handkerchief,  not  moving  or  stirring  from  her  position  at  any 
noise  around  her,  or  no  matter  how  many  times  she  was  called 
even  by  her  mother.  This  happened  quite  rarely,  however, 
for  she  was  almost  always  gay. 

She  paid  no  attention,  as  I  have  already  said,  to  the  soldiers, 
nor  even  looked  at  them  ;  but  reserved  all  her  tenderness  for 
the  officers.  She  did  not  dispense  it,  however,  in  equal 
measure  to  all.  Since,  her  return  from  the  hospital,  the  detach- 
ment had  been  changed  six  or  eight  times,  and  officers  of  every 
age,  aspect,  and  humor  had  come.  It  was  noticed  that  she  dis- 
played a  much  greater  sympathy  for  the  younger  ones,  even 
when  there  was  only  a  few  years'  difference  in  their  ages, 
and  she  knew  very  well  how  to  distinguish  between  those  who 
were  handsome  and  those  less  so,  although  all  were  equally  her 
"love  "and  her  "  treasure."  To  a  certain  lieutenant,  among 
the  first  arrivals,  a  man  in  the  forties,  all  nose  and  stomach, 
with  a  stentorian  voice,  and  basilisk  eyes,  she  had  never  shown 
any  favor.  She  had  addressed  a  few  sweet  words  to  him  the 
first  time  they  met ;  but  he,  disgusted,  had  replied  disagreeably, 
accompanying  his  words  with  a  threatening  movement  of  the 


l6o  MILITARY  LIFE. 

hand,  in  order  to  show  her,  that  it  was  best  to  desist  once  for 
all.  And  she  had  desisted,  not  ceasing,  however,  to  keep  be- 
hind him  every  time  that  she  met  him  in  the  street,  and  to  pass 
many  hours  of  the  evening  seated  on  the  steps  of  his  house. 
""Whether  lie  entered  or  went  out,  she  never  said  a  word  to  him, 
nor  moved  from  the  spot.  And  she  conducted  herself  in  the 
same  way  with /two  or  three  other  officers  who  came  after  him, 
and  who  differed  little  from  him  in  manners,  customs,  or  appear- 
ances. But  some  young  and  very  handsome  ones  arrived,  and 
one  might  say  that  she  went  mad  about  them,  if  that  had  not  been 
her  state  already.  Some  of  them  took  it  into  their  head  that 
they  could  cure  her  by  pretending  to  be  charmed  and  in  love 
with  her  ;  but  having  taken  the  thing  up  too  lightly,  they  were 
wearied  after  two  or  three  days'  trial,  and  had  abandoned  their 
project.  Some  others,  less  pjulanthropic  and  more  material, 
had  asked  themselves  :  ""Is  it  always  necessary  that  a  beautiful 

girl  should  be  perfectly  sane  ? "  and  having  replied  in  the  nega- 

• 
tive,  had  tried  to  persuade  Carmela  that  brains  were  a  superfluity 

in  love-making  ;  but,  strange  to  say,  they  had  met  with  an  un- 
expected and  obstinate  resistance.  She  never  said  a  positive  and 
resolute  no,  because,  perhaps,  she  did  not  clearly  understand  what 
they  wanted  of  her  ;  but,  almost  by  instinct,  at  every  attitude  or 
act  (who  can  suggest  an  adjective?)  which  might  seem  decisive, 
she  would  loosen  one  hand  after  the  other,  draw  back  her  arms, 
cross  them  on  her  breast,  and  clasp  herself  tightly,  giving  a 
certain  strange  laugh,  like  children  when  they  think  some  one 
intends  to  play  them  a  trick,  but  they  do  not  know  what,  and, 
by  laughing,  wish  to  show  that  they  have  understood  it  in  order 
to  have  it  explained.  At  those  moments  when  her  face  became 
animated  and  her  eyes  sparkled,  she  no  longer  seemed  mad, 


CA  R 'MELA.  l6l 

and  was  very  beautiful ;  that  self-possession  and  reserve,  giving 
to  her  movements  and  attitudes  a  certain  composure  and  grace, 
added  an  extraordinary  brilliancy  to  the  wonderful  beauty  of 
her  form.  In  fact,  the  few  who  tried  to  tempt  her  became  con- 
vinced that  it  was  a  useless  undertaking.  I  was  informed  that 
one  of  these  men,  in  telling  the  doctor,  one  day,  something  of 
his  vain  attempts,  exclaimed  :  "  Women  with  virtue  in  their 
brains,  conscience,  hearts,  in  whatever  you  like,  I  have  seen 
many ;  but  women  like  this  one  who  has  it  in  her  blood — in  her 
blood  !  I  confess  I  have  never  before  encountered."  Some  said 
that  in  every  officer  whom  she  liked  or  fancied,  she  saw  her 
own,  the  one  who  had  loved  and  abandoned  her.  Perhaps  this 
was  not  true,  because  sometimes  she  would  have  made  some 
allusion  to  what  had  taken  place,  but,  on  the  contrary,  she  never 
said  any  thing.  Frequently  she  was  questioned  or  spoken  to 
on  the  subject,  but  she  never  gave  sign  of  understanding  or 
remembering  any  thing  about  it  ;  she  listened  attentively  and 
then  laughed.  When  a  detachment  left  she  accompanied  it  to 
the  port,  and  when  the  ship  was  moving  off  she  waved  her 
handkerchief ;  but  did  not  weep  or  make  any  demonstration 
of  grief.  She  went  immediately  to  offer  protestations  of  her 
love  to  the  new  officer.  The  last-comer  seemed  to  please  her 
more  than  all  the  others. 

V. 

The  doctor  returned  a  short  time  thereafter  and  related  to 
the  officer  all  that  we  have  just  finished  telling.  The  latter,  on 
taking  leave,  exclaimed  a  second  time  :  "  What  a  pity  ;  she  is 
so  lovely  !  "  "  Yes,  indeed  ;  and  what  a  proud,  noble  charac- 
ter she  must  have  !  "  added  the  physician.  The  officer  went 


1 62  MILITARY  LIFE. 

out.  It  was  very  late,  and  not  a  living  soul  was  to  be  seen  on 
the  square.  His  house  was  on  the  opposite  side  from  the  cafe\ 
Thither  he  slowly  sauntered  in  an  almost  melancholy  frame  of 
mind.  "  She  will  be  there,"  he  thought,  sighing,  and  he 
strained  his  eyes,  turned  his  head  from  right  to  left  to  see  if 
there  was  any  one  before  the  door ;  but  all  in  vain,  the  dark- 
ness was  inpenetrable.  On,  on  he  went,  more  and  more  slowly, 
stopping,  meandering,  spying  about  him.  .  .  .  "  If  I  knew 
that  a  cutthroat,  knife  in  hand,  was  awaiting  me,  I  could  go  on 
more  quickly  and  boldly,"  he  said  to  himself,  then  took  ten  or 
twelve  resolute  steps.  "Ah!  there  she  is."  He  had  discovered 
her.  She  was  seated  on  the  steps  outside  the  door ;  but  it  was  too 
dark  to  see  her  face.  "  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  asked, 
approaching  her.  She  did  not  reply  immediately,  arose,  came 
close  to  him,  and,  placing  her  two  hands  on  his  shoulders,  said, 
with  a  sweet  voice,  in  a  tone  as  if  talking  most  sensibly  :  "  I 
was  waiting  for  you  .  .  .  and  I  went  to  sleep."  "But  why 
did  you  wait  ? "  asked  the  officer,  removing  from  his  shoulders 
her  hands,  which  instantly  seized  his  arms.  "  Because  I  wish 
to  remain  with  you,"  she  replied.  "  What  a  tone  !  "  he  thought ; 
"one  would  really  suppose  she  was  talking  like  a  sane  person." 
Then,  taking  a  match  from  his  pocket,  he  lighted  it,  and  ap- 
proached Carmela  in  order  to  look  into  her  eyes.  The  weari- 
ness— for  she  had  been  wandering  around  all  day — and,  more 
than  all,  the  short  sleep  from  which  she  had  just  waked  hav- 
ing taken  from  her  face  a  little  of  that  immoderate  and  convul- 
sive vivacity  which  was  habitual  to  it,  and  in  its  stead  diffused 
a  shade  of  melancholy  and  languor  over  it,  so  that  at  that 
moment  her  face  was  enchanting,  and  she  seemed  any  thing 
but  a  mad-woman. 


CARMELA.  163 

"Oh,  darling,  darling!"  broke  out  Carmela  as  soon  as  she 
saw  the  lighted  face  of  the  lieutenant,  and,  stretching  out  her  arm, 
she  tried  to  take  his  chin  between  her  thumb  and  forefinger. 
He  seized  her  by  one  arm,  she  in  her  turn  took  hold  of  the  arm 
which  held  her,  fastened  her  mouth  on  his  hand,  and  kissed  and 
bit  it.  The  officer  broke  away,  dashed  into  the  house,  and  closed 
the  door. 

"  Treasure  ! "  cried  Carmela  once  again,  and  then,  without 
saying  any  thing  more,  reseated  herself  on  the  steps,  with  her 
arms  crossed  over  her  knees  and  her  head  bent  to  one  side. 
Shortly  after  she  was  asleep. 

As  soon  as  he  had  entered  the  house  and  lighted  the  lamp, 
the  officer  looked  at  the  back  of  his  right  hand  and  saw  there 
the  light  imprint  of  eight  little  teeth,  all  around  which  still 
gleamed  the  foam  of  that  convulsive  mouth.  "  What  kind  of 
love  is  this  ?"  he  said  aloud  to  himself,  and,  lighting  a  cigar,  he 
began  pacing  the  room,  thinking  over  the  time-table  for  his 
small  detachment  "  I  '11  think  to-morrow,"  he  said  suddenly, 
and  he  turned  his  thoughts  to  something  else.  He  seated  him- 
self, opened  a  book,  read  several  pages ;  finally  decided  to  go 
to  bed.  He  had  nearly  finished  undressing  when  he  was  seized 
by  an  idea ;  he  stood  meditating  for  an  instant,  ran  to  the  win- 
dow, stretched  out  his  hand  to  open  it  ...  withdrew  it, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went  to  sleep. 

The  following  morning  his  orderly,  who  entered  his  room  be- 
times on  tiptoe,  was  astonished  to  find  him  awake,  as  it  was  not 
his  habit  to  wake  himself.  And  he  said,  smiling  :  "  That  mad 
girl  is  down  at  the  door."  "  What  is  she  doing  ? "  "  Noth- 
ing ;  she  says  she  is  waiting  for  you,  lieutenant." 

The  officer  tried  to  laugh,  and  looking  then  at  the  soldier 


164  MILITARY  LIFE. 

while  he  was  brushing  his  clothes,  said  to  himself :  "  That  fel- 
low is  working  by  steam  this  morning."  When  he  was  dressed, 
he  said :  "  Look  and  see  if  she  is  still  there."  The  soldier 
opened  the  window,  looked  down,  and  replied  in  the  affirma- 
tive. "What  is  she  doing?"  "  Playing  with  stones."  "  Is  she 
looking  up  ?"  "  No."  "  Is  she  directly  in  front  of  the  door 
or  at  one  side  ?"  "Atone  side."  "lean  escape  from  her," 
and  down  he  went.  But  the  sound  of  his  sword  betrayed  him. 
"  Good-morning,  good-morning  !  "  shouted  the  girl,  running  up 
the  stairs  to  meet  him,  and  when  she  was  near  him,  she  kneeled 
down,  drew  out  a  handkerchief,  and,  seizing  him  with  the  other 
hand,  began  dusting  his  boots  in  the  greatest  haste,  murmur- 
ing as  she  did  so :  "  Wait,  wait,  one  moment  more,  a  little 
patience,  my  dear ;  one  moment  more,  ah  !  that  's  it,  now  you 
are  all  right." 

"  Carmela  !  "  exclaimed  the  officer  severely,  as  he  attempted 
in  vain  to  free  his  leg  from  her  little  hand  ;  "  Carmela !  " 
When  he  was  at  liberty  he  hurried  off  on  a  run. 

"  But  is  there  really  no  way  of  restoring  her  reason  ? "  he 
asked  of  the  doctor  soon  afterward.  "  Ah  ! "  the  latter  replied, 
"perhaps  so  ;  with  time  and  patience  .  .  ." 

VI. 

After  a  month  the  doctor  and  lieutenant  were  very  great 
friends.  The  similarity  of  their  characters  and  ages,  and,  more 
than  all,  their  constant  intercourse  from  morning  until  night  in 
a  place  where  it  might  be  said  there  were  no  other  young  men 
of  their  position,  resulted  in  the  fact  that  they  grew  to  know 
each  other  intimately  and  to  be  as  fond  of  one  another  as  old 
friends.  But  during  that  month  one  of  them,  the  officer,  had 


CARMELA.  165 

changed  his  habits  in  a  singular  manner.  During  the  first  few 
days  he  had  had  certain  huge  books  sent  him  from  Naples,  and 
during  the  evenings  of  several  weeks  he  had  done  nothing  but 
read  and  make  notes  and  indulge  in  long  and  abstruse  discus- 
sions with  the  doctor,  always  ending  with  the  remark  :  "  Well, 
enough  of  it.  I  fancy  that  physicians  can  do  little  or  nothing 
in  those  cases  !  "  "We  will  see  how  you  succeed,"  the  doctor 
would  reply  ;  and  they  parted  with  these  words,  only  to  resume 
the  discussion  from  the  beginning  the  following  day. 

One  day,  after  having  asked  certain  questions  of  the  syndic, 
the  officer  had  sent  for  the  only  tailor  in  the  town,  then  had 
betaken  himself  to  the  shop  of  the  sole  hatter,  and  from  thence 
to  the  only  haberdasher's  establishment.  Four  days  thereafter 
he  went  out  to  walk  on  the  sea-shore  all  dressed  in  Russian 
linen,  with  a  broad  straw  hat  and  a  sky-blue  cravat.  The  doc- 
tor in  meeting  him  the  same  evening  had  asked:  "Well?" 
"Nothing."  "Not  even  a  sign?"  "Nothing,  nothing." 
"  No  matter,  persevere."  "Oh,  never  fear  !  " 

The  receiver  of  the  town  had  been  a  singer  for  many  years 
and  knew  how  to  play  on  several  instruments.  One  day  the 
officer  went  to  him,  and  without  any  preamble,  said  :  "  Will  you 
do  me  the  favor  to  teach  me  to  play  the  guitar  ?  "  And  the  re- 
ceiver, beginning  that  very  day,  gave  lessons  on  the  guitar,  morn- 
ing and  evening,  to  the  lieutenant,  who  learned  with  wonderful 
quickness,  and  in  a  short  time  was  able  to  accompany  him- 
self in  singing.  "You  must  have  a  beautiful  voice,"  the  master 
said  to  him  one  day.  And  in  truth  his  voice  was  lovely.  Then 
he  began  to  learn  to  sing,  and  at  the  end  of  a.  month  he  sang  to 
the  guitar  the  little  Sicilian  songs  with  such  taste  and  feeling 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  hear  him.  "  We  had  another  officer 


1 66  MILITARY  LIFE. 

who  played  very  well  too ! "  the  receiver  once  said  to  him. 
"  There  is  a  little  air,"  he  added  one  day,  "  which  he  always 
sang  ...  an  air  ...  wait ;  ah,  how  divinely  he  sang 
it !  It  began  ...  he  composed  it  himself,  you  know  ;  it 

began  : 

44  4Carmela,  ai  tuoi  ginocchi 
Placidamente  assiso, 
Guardandoti  negli  occhi 
Baciandoti  nel  viso 
Trascorrero  i  miei  di. 

4< '  L'  ultimo  di,  nel  seno 
II  volto  scolorito 
Ti  celer6,  sereno 
Come  un  fanciul  sopito, 
E  morir6  cosi." " 

Carmela,  at  thy  dainty  feet 

Content  I  find  a  resting-place  ; 
While  gazing  in  thine  eyes  so  sweet, 

And  kissing  oft  thy  beauteous  face, 
My  days  will  thus  glide  swiftly  by. 

The  last  day,  upon  thy  breast 

My  pale  brow  I  '11  lay  and  keep, 
Sinking  quietly  to  rest 

Like  a  child  that 's  lulled  to  sleep  ; 
And  so  I'  11  gladly  die. 

"  Say  it  over  again."  The  receiver  repeated  it.  "  Sing  it." 
And  he  did  so. 

Another  day,  after  having  talked  at  length  with  the  tobacco- 
nist, who  had  a  shop  next  his  house,  he  went  to  the  marshal  of 
the  carabineers,  and  said  to  him  :  "  Marshal,  they  tell  me  that 
you  are  an  excellent  fencer."  "  I,  oh,  heavens  !  it  's  two  years 
since  I  have  had  a  foil  in  my  hand."  "  Would  you  like  to 
exchange  a  few  thrusts  with  me,  from  time  to  time?"  "Oh, 


CARMELA.  167 

gladly  ! "  "  Then  let  us  appoint  the  time."  And  they  arranged 
their  meetings.  From  that  day  on,  every  morning  all  those  who 
crossed  the  square  heard  a  great  clashing  of  swords,  stamping 
of  feet,  puffing,  and  noise  in  the  lieutenant's  house.  It  was 
the  marshal  and  himself  who  were  fencing.  "  You  may  spare 
yourself  this  experiment,"  said  the  doctor  to  the  officer  one 
day.  "  Does  she  give  no  sign  ?  "  "  None  at  all."  "  But  it  was 
worth  trying.  I  was  told  that  he  fenced  every  morning  with 
the  marshal,  just  at  that  hour,  and  that  she,  not  liking  to  stay 
and  look  on,  went  down  into  the  square."  "  Oh,  yes,  my  dear 
friend,  something  else  is  needed.  Something  else  is  needed  !  " 

VII. 

A' month  and  a  half  had  passed  since  the  day  of  the  new  de- 
tachment's arrival.  One  night  the  officer  sat  at  the  little  table 
in  his  own  house,  opposite  the  doctor,  and  with  the  point  of 
his  pen  stirring  up  the  flame  of  the  candle  burning  before  him, 
he  said  :  "  How  do  you  think  it  will  end  ?  I  shall  become 
mad  too  ;  that  's  how  it  will  end.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself. 
Look  here  ;  there  are  moments  in  which  it  seems  as  if  every 
one  were  laughing  at  me  behind  my  back." 

"  Laughing  at  what  ? " 

"  At  what  ?  "  repeated  the  other,  in  order  to  seize  time  for  a 
reply.  "  Laughing  at  my  zeal,  my  pity  for  this  poor  unfortu- 
nate creature,  my  experiments,  my  useless  attempts." 

"  Zeal  !  pity  !  These  are  not  subjects  for  laughter."  And 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  other's  face  ;  then  added  :  "  Tell  me 
the  truth  ;  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  Carmela  ? " 

"  I  ? "  hastily  exclaimed  the  officer,  and  he  stopped  in  the 
midst  of  his  question,  growing  red  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 


1 68  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  You,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  Tell  me  the  truth  ;  be  sincere 
with  me. ;  am  I  not  your  only  friend  here  ?  " 

"  Friend,  yes  ;  but  just  because  I  wish  to  be  sincere  I  might 
not  like  to  tell  you  that  which  does  not  exist,"  answered  the 
other.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  talking 
hastily,  now  becoming  pale,  now  scarlet,  stammering,  growing 
embarrassed  and  contradicting  himself,  like  a  boy  caught  in 
mischief  and  obliged  to  confess  his  wrong-doing. 

"  I,  in  love  ?  And  with  Carmela  ?  With  an  insane  person  ? 
What  are  you  thinking  of,  friend  ?  How  did  you  get  such  a 
strange  idea  into  your  head  ?  The  day  that  that  happens,  I  '11 
give  you  the  right  to  say  to  my  colonel  that  I  have  lost  my 
reason  and  ought  to  be  shut  up  with  madmen.  In  love  !  You 
make  me  laugh.  I  feel  pity  for  that  poor  creature  ;  yes,  a 
very  strong  and  lively  pity.  I  don't  know  what  I  would  not 
give  to  see  her  cured  ;  I  would  make  any  sacrifice  for  her 
health  ;  I  should  delight  in  her  recovery  as  if  she  were  one  of 
my  family.  .  .  .  That  is  all  very  true,  but  between  this 
and  falling  in  love  with  her  there  is  a  great  difference.  I  like 
her,  this  is  true  too,  I  like  her  very  much,  as  I  think  you  do 
too,  because  pity  always  goes  with  affection.  .  .  .  Then  I 
am  fond  of  her  because  they  say  she  has  always  been  a  virtu- 
ous, affectionate  girl ;  that  her  first  and  only  lover  she  really 
loved,  loved  worthily,  with  the  idea  of  becoming  his  wife,  and 
without  being  willing  to  sacrifice  her  honor  to  him  before  bear- 
ing his  name.  .  .  .  This  is  virtue,  my  dear  friend,  real  virt- 
ue, and  I  admire  it,  you  understand  ;  so  that  poor  creature 
arouses  all  the  more  compassion  because  she  deserved  a  happy 
fate  instead  of  a  misfortune  like  the  one  which  has  fallen  to 
her  lot.  How  could  one  help  having  compassion  for,  and 


CARMELA.  .  169 

loving  her  ?  Is  not  the  character  of  her  madness  the  expres- 
sion of  a  good,  loving,  lovely  soul  ?  From  her  mouth  I  have 
never  heard  any  but  sweet  and  modest  words  ;  and  that  laying 
of  her  hands  on  me,  her  caresses,  her  kissing  of  my  hands,  are 
certainly  the  acts  of  a  mad-woman,  but  there  is  nothing  in  them 
that  passes  the  limits  of  decency.  Have  you  ever  seen  her  do 
any  thing  out  of  the  way?  No,  certainly  not  ;  and  it  is  for 
this  reason,  I  repeat  to  you,  that  I  am  attached  to  her.  Poor 
girl,  abandoned  by  all,  .  .  .  forced  to  lead  the  life  of  a 
dog.  .  .  .  Tell  me  if  you  are  not  fond  of  her  too  !  I  tell 
you  frankly  that  I  am  sincerely  attached  to  her.  Her  very 
beauty  (because  she  is  beautiful, — beautiful  as  an  angel  ; 
that  cannot  be  denied  ;  look  at  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  her  whole 
figure,  her  hands  ;  have  you  ever  seen  her  hands  ?  And  her 
hair  ?  Tumbled  as  it  is  she  looks  like  a  savage,  but  it  *s  beauti- 
ful. And  then  dressed  in  another  way.  ),  well,  her 
very  beauty  makes  my  pity  all  the  stronger.  Looking  at  her  I 
cannot  help  saying  to  myself :  '  What  a  pity,  what  a  shame  that 
one  cannot  love  those  brilliant  eyes  !'  But  don't  you  know  that 
that  girl's  face,  were  she  sane,  would  be  enough  to  turn  any 
man's  head  ?  Then,  too,  there  are  moments  in  which,  if  you 
did  not  know  that  she  was  mad,  you  would  be  ready  to  commit 
some  extravagance  ;  for  instance,  when  she  looks  you  in  the 
eyes,  then  smiles  and  says  :  '  My  dear '  ;  and  the  evening,  at 
dark,  when  you  do  not  see  her  face  and  only  hear  her  speak 
and  say  gently  that  she  was  waiting  for  you,  that  she  will  stay 
with  you  until  morning,  that  you  are  her  angel,  and  what  not 
besides  ;  at  those  times  she  does  not  seem  like  a  mad-woman. 
I  look  at  her,  I  listen  to  her  as  if  she  were  herself  and  really 
felt  what  she  says  to  me,  and  I  assure  you  that,  while  the  illu- 


1 7O  .  MIL ITARY  LIFE. 

sion  lasts,  my  heart  beats,  yes,  vbeats  as  if  I  were  in  love  with 
her.  I  try  calling  her  by  name,  I  don't  know  why,  with  the 
fixed  idea  that  she  ought  to  give  me  some  reply  that  will 
show  me  that  she  has  been  suddenly  cured.  .  .  .  '  Car- 
mela  !  '  I  say.  And  she  answers:  '  What  do  you  wish  ? '  '  You 
are  not  really  mad,  are  you  ? '  I  ask.  '  I  mad  ? '  she  replies, 
looking  at  me  with  a  certain  air  of  surprise  that  would  make 
me  swear  that  she  was  not.  ''Carmela  ! '  I  cry  suddenly,  car- 
ried away  by  a  sweet  hope.  '  Tell  me  once  more  that  you  are 
not  mad  !  '  She  looks  at  me  astonished  for  a  short  time, 
then  breaks  out  into  a  loud  laugh.  Oh,  friend,  believe  me, 
at  that  moment  I  am  ready  to  dash  my  head  against  the 
wall.  You  know  how  much  I  have  done  to  try  and  restore  her 
reason;  but  you  do  not  know  all.  Nearly  every  evening  I 
have  had  her  brought  to  my  house,  I  have  talked  to  her  by  the 
hour,  I  have  played  and  sung  to  her  by  the  hour  the  songs  her 
lover  sang,  I  have  tried  to  tell  her  I  was  in  love  with  her,  to 
calm  her  by  caresses,  by  pretending  to  cry  and  grow  desperate, 
by  allowing  her  to  do  with  me  wh^t  she  chose,  to  kiss  me, 
embrace  me,  caress  me  as  mothers  do  their  children.  .  .  . 
I  have  tried  to  do  the  same  to  her,  and  with  what  a  heavy 
heart  I  did  it,  I  leave  you  to  imagine,  for  1  could  not  tell  you 
whether  it  was  a  feeling  of  repugnance,  fear,  shame,  or  re- 
morse, or  all  combined  ;  the  fact  remains,  that,  in  kissing  her, 
I  trembled  and  grew  pale,  as  if  I  were  kissing  a  corpse.  Some- 
times it  seemed  as  if  I  were  making  a  great  sacrifice,  and  I 
exulted  in  it,  and,  mingling  with  the  kisses,  my  tears  fell  on  her 
cheeks.  At  other  times  I  seemed  to  be  committing  a  crime, 
and  I  felt  horrified  at  myself.  I  have  suffered  terribly,  dear 
friend,  and  all  in  vain.  The  more  the  despair  increased,  the 


CARMELA.  171 

more  this  cursed  and  obstinate  fever  raged  in  my  heart.  .  .  . 
I  cannot  sleep  at  night,  because  I  know  that  she  is  already 
curled  up  before  my  door,  and  tortured  as  I  am  continually  by 
this  idea,  it  seems  as  if  I  ought  to  hear  from  one  moment  to 
the  other,  another  tapping  on  the  glass,  and  see  appear  above 
my  window-sill  that  distorted  face,  and  have  those  two  motion- 
less, staring  eyes  fastened  upon  mine  !  Sometimes  I  seem  to 
hear  her  coming  up  the  stairs,  and  I  spring  up  in  my  bed,  or  I 
fancy  I  hear  down  in  the  square  a  burst  of  laughter,  and  that 
laugh  produces  the  effect  of  an  icy  hand  laid  on  my  heart  ; 
but  I  have  not  the  courage  to  look  out  of  the  window.  I  be- 
gin to  read,  to  write,  yet  my  mind,  always  fixed  upon  her,  is 
sad,  disquieted,  almost  fearful,  I  know  not  why.  Then  I  ask 
myself  when  this  agonizing  life  will  end,  and  how  ;  what  trace 
of  it  will  remain  in  my  heart.  I  do  not  dare  reply,  I  am  afraid 
of  my  answer,  and  I  dash  my  hands  into  my  hair  .  .  .  like 
one  desperate.  .  .  .  Oh,  friend  !  tell  me  that  I  shall  not 
go  mad  too,  because  I  feel  that  my  heart  is  breaking  and  I 
cannot  bear  this  life  ...  I  cannot  .  .  .  cannot  bear 
it!" 

Then  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  seize  that  of  the  doctor  ; 
the  latter  drew  his  chair  nearer,  and  being  so  moved  that  he 
could  not  utter  one  word,  he  placed  both  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  looked  at  him  an  instant,  and  then  embraced  him. 

All  at  once  the  officer  exclaimed  with  a  suddenly  quiet  face  : 
"  If  she  could  become  what  she  once  was,  if  she  could  regain 
her  reason  and  the  heart  she  then  possessed,  and  those  eyes 
should  lose  forever  that  strange  light,  that  fixed  expression 
which  is  so  frightful ;  her  mouth  never  give  again  that  horrible 
laugh,  and  one  day  she  should  say  sanely  :  '  I  thank  thee,  I 


1/2  MILITARY  LIFE. 

bless  thee,  dear ;  thou  hast  given  me  back  my  life  ;  I  am  fond 
of  thee,  I  love  thee  .  .  .'  and  should  weep.  Oh,  to  see  her 
weep,  to  hear  her  speak,  to  find  her  always  neat,  well  dressed, 
and  cared  for  like  other  girls  ;  to  see  her  return  to  church  to 
pray,  and  blush  as  she  used  to  do  ;  and  to  have  her  experience, 
one  by  one,  as  in  a  second  childhood,  all  the  sweet  and  pure 
feelings  of  affection  which  have  disappeared  !  Not  to  find  her 
any  more  at  evening  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  to  be  obliged  to  go 
to  her  home  in  search  of  her,  where,  beside  her  mother,  she 
(quiet  and  contented)  would  be  occupied  with  some  work.  .  .  . 
Oh,  my  friend  !  "  he  exclaimed,  seizing  him  by  the  hands  and 
gazing  at  him,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  "  I  should  feel  like  a 
god  ;  it  would  seem  to  me  that  I,  too,  had  created  something, 
possessed  two  souls,  lived  two  lives,  hers  and  mine ;  she  would 
seem  my  own  ;  I  should  feel  that  heaven  had  predestined  her 
for  me,  and  I  would  lead  her  into  my  mother's  presence  as  if 
she  were  an  angel.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  could  not  grasp  such  hap- 
piness ;  I  should  go  mad  from  joy ;  oh,  if  it  were  true ;  if  it 
were  true  !  " 

Then  weeping,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Oh,  my  love !  "  they  heard  some  one  cry  in  the  square. 
The  officer  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  said  resolutely  to  the  doc- 
tor :  "  Leave  me  !  " 

The  latter  pressed  his  hand,  said  :  "  Courage  ! "  and  went 
out. 

The  lieutenant  remained  motionless  for  some  moments  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  then  approached  the  window,  opened 
it,  drew  back  a  step,  and  stood  contemplating  for  an  instant 
the  exquisite  spectacle  stretched  out  before  his  eyes.  It  was 
a  clear,  soft,  still,  enchanting  night.  Directly  under  his  eyes 


CARMELA.  173 

lay  the  lower  part  of  the  town,  the  roofs,  the  deserted  streets, 
the  harbor,  and  the  beach,  on  which  the  white  moon-light  fell 
so  brightly  that  you  could  have  seen  a  person  passing  as  dis- 
tinctly as  if  it  were  day  ;  then  the  quiet  sea  as  smooth  as  glass, 
and  away  in  the  dim  distance  the  mountains  of  Sicily  as  clearly 
defined  as  if  they  were  near,  and  over  all  a  profound  silence. 
"  If  I  could  but  enter  this  sweet  peace,"  thought  the  officer,  as 
his  eyes  swept  across  the  immensity  of  that  sea,  and  trembling, 
he  approached  the  window  and  looked  down.  Carmela  was 
seated  before  the  door. 

"  Carmela !  " 

"  Darling." 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 

"  What  am  I  doing  ?  I  am  waiting ;  you  know  it.  I  am  wait- 
ing until  you  let  me  come  up.  Don't  you  want  me  this  even- 
ing ? " 

"  I  '11  come  down  and  open  the  door." 

Carmela  began  clapping  her  hands  and  jumping  about  with 
joy. 

The  door  opened,  and  the  officer  appeared  with  the  light  in 
his  hand.  Carmela  entered,  took  the  light  from  him,  passed 
before  him  and  began  hastily  climbing  the  stairs,  murmuring 
as  she  did  so  :  "  Come,  come,  poor  fellow,"  and  then  turning 
to  stretch  out  her  hand  to  him,  she  said  :  "  Give  your  hand  to 
your  little  one,  you  handsome  fellow,"  and  so  drew  him  by  the 
hand  into  the  house. 

There  the  officer  made  her  sit  down,  and  with  the  patience 
of  a  saint  began  to  repeat  all  his  former  experiments  and  at- 
tempts, invented  new  ones,  tried  them  several  times,  always 
with  more  active  solicitude  and  ardor,  simulating  love, 


174  MILITARY  LIFE. 

hatred,  anger,  sorrow,  despair  ;  but  in  vain.  She  looked  at 
and  listened  to  him  attentively,  then  when  he  had  finished  she 
asked  him  with  a  loud  laugh  :  "  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 
or  said  :  "  Poor  fellow,  you  arouse  my  compassion."  Then 
she  took  his  hands  and  kissed  them  with  the  air  of  intense 
pity. 

"  Carmela  !  "  finally  exclaimed  the  officer  in  order  to  try 
one  more  experiment. 

"  What  do  you  wish  ?  " 

He  made  her  a  sign  to  come  nearer  him.  She  approached 
slowly,  looking  lovingly  into  his  eyes,  then  suddenly  threw  her- 
self on  his  breast,  clasped  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and, 
pressing  her  mouth  to  it,  she  cried  with  a  suffocating  voice  : 
"  My  dear  !  my  dear  !  my  dear  !  "  The  poor  young  fellow, 
who  had  quite  lost  his  head,  passed  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
and  thus  supporting  her,  bent  slowly,  she  with  him,  until  he 
laid  her  down,  almost  without  being  aware  of  it,  on  the  sofa 
near  the  little  table.  .  .  .  Carmela  suddenly  rose  to  her 
feet,  looked  very  serious,  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something 
for  a  moment,  and  then  murmured  with  a  slight  expression  of 
disgust : 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?" 

The  officer  saw  a  gleam  of  hope,  and  stood  watching  her 
silently  and  anxiously. 

Carmela  remained  pensive,  or  seemed  to  be  so,  an  instant 
longer,  then,  smiling  in  a  singular  way,  as  she  had  never  done 
before,  said  :  "  Oh,  are  we  already  married,  we  two  ?  " 

The  officer  gave  a  half  cry,  and  with  his  eyes  toward  heaven 
and  the  tip  of  his  finger  at  his  lips,  pallid,  convulsive,  he 
thought  for  a  moment  what  reply  he  should  make.  At 


CARMELA.  1/5 

that  moment  Carmela  raised  her  eyes  to  the  wall,  caught 
sight  of  a  high  hat  hanging  from  a  nail,  burst  out  into  a  laugh, 
took  it,  put  it  on  her  head,  and  screaming  and  shouting,  she 
began  jumping  about  the  room. 

"Carmela  !  "  cried  the  officer,  sorrowfully.  But  she  did  not 
heed  him. 

"  Carmela !  "  he  shouted  again,  dashing  toward  her.  She, 
frightened,  sprang  down  the  staircase,  and  a  moment  later  was 
in  the  middle  of  the  square,  still  jumping,  shouting,  and  shriek- 
ing with  laughter. 

The  officer  went  to  the  window. — "  Carmela  !  "  he  shouted 
once  more  in  an  exhausted  voice,  then  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands  and  dropped  down  into  a  chair. 

VIII. 

The  following  morning,  as  soon  as  he  was  up,  he  went  to  the 
doctor's  house.  The  latter,  on  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  red 
eyes  and  distorted  face,  saw  that  he  had  come  for  comfort  and 
counsel,  and  making  him  sit  down  in  front  of  him,  began  a 
regular  lecture.  But  the  officer  did  not  listen  to  him,  and 
seemed  preoccupied  with  other  thoughts.  Suddenly  he  grew 
brighter,  and  clapping  his  hand  to  his  head,  exclaimed  :  "  Ah  ! 
I  never  thought  of  that  before  !  "  "  Of  what  ? "  asked  the 
doctor.  The  other  made  no  reply  ;  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  a 
pen,  and  began  writing  furiously.  When  he  had  finished  he 
read  the  following  letter  : 

LIEUTENANT : 

Without  any  preamble,  as  is  the  habit  among  us  military  men,  I  will 
say  that  I  have  been,  for  a  month  and  a  half,  in  command  of  the  detachment 
of  ...  which  you  commanded  three  years  ago  during  the  months  of  July, 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

August,  September.     I  have  learned  to  know  in  this  town  a  girl  of  eighteen 
or  twenty,  called  Carmela,  who  has  been  mad  for  two  years  ;  her  insanity 
having  been  caused,  it  is  said,  by  her  love  for  you.     What  has  happened  to 
her  since  your  departure  from  the  island,  you  must  know,  and  you  ought 
also  to  be  conversant  with  the  especial  character  of  her  madness,  because 
I  have  been  told  that  you  have  been  written  to  on  the  subject  by  some 
one  here.     The  most  unfortunate  condition  of  this  girl  aroused  in  me,  from 
the  first  time  I  saw  her,  a  profound  feeling  of  pity,  and  I  tried  every  means 
to  restore  her  reason.     I  dressed  like  you,  learned  to  play  and  sing  like  you, 
informed  myself  of  all  your  habits  familiar   to  those  persons  who  have 
known  you  ;   I  feigned  love  for  her,  spoke  of  you,  pretended  to  be  you,  but 
all  in  vain.     You  cannot  understand  how  unhappy  I  have  been  made  by 
seeing  my  hopes  fall  one  by  one.     There  is,  however,  one  more  thing  to 
try,  and  this  is  in  your  hands  ;  do  not  refuse  me  ;  grant  my  prayer  and  you 
will  perform  a  sacred  duty.  Listen  :  It  is  said  that  one  of  the  most  efficacious 
means  of  restoring  insane  people  is  to  represent  before  them,  with  the  most 
minute  details  and  scrupulous  exactness,  some  serious  event  that  preceded 
their  malady,  whether  it  were  or  were  not  the  direct  cause  of  the  same.     I 
have  thought  that  by  repeating  exactly  before  Carmela  the  scene  of  your 
departure,  I  might  produce  some  effect  upon  her.     1  have  questioned  many 
persons  in  town  and  have  not  succeeded  in  learning  any  thing  more  than  the 
fact  that  you  left  at  night,  and  before  your  departure  supped  at  home  in 
company  with  the  syndic,   marshal  of  the  carabineers,  and  several  other 
people.     The  particulars  of  that  supper  and  of  your  subsequent  departure 
are  only  remembered  indistinctly  at  best.     I  beseech  you  from  my  heart  to 
do  this  work  of  charity,  which  will  cost  you  little  or  nothing,  and  may  give 
life  and  happiness  to  the  person  most  interested.     Write  me  all  that  you 
remember,  tell  me  of  the  persons,  speeches,   occurrences,  every  thing  in 
fact.     And,  above  all,  try  to  tell  me  the  precise  hour  or  moment  in  which 
the  most  noteworthy  incidents  occurred  ;  and  tell  me  every  thing  with  clear- 
ness and  in  order.     Do  me  this  great  service,  I  pray  you,  and  I  shall  be 
grateful  to  you  all  through  life.     I  add  nothing  more.     I  trust  to  the  gen- 
erosity of  your  heart ;  I  press  your  hand  as  a  good  comrade  and  say  adieu. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  "  Divinely  inspired,"  replied 
the  doctor,  who  had  listened  with  the  greatest  attention.  "  Do 
you  know  his  name,  regiment,  and  station  ? "  "  The  syndic 
knows  every  thing."  "Do  you  think  he  will  reply  to  you?" 
"I  am  convinced  of  it." 


CARMELA.  177 

He  did  reply  ;  and  in  a  letter  of  eight  pages,  in  which  were 
written  all  the  details  required  about  the  persons,  speeches, 
hours,  and  all.  But  there  was  not  a  comment,  not  an  allusion 
to  the  past,  not  a  single  word  referring  to  any  thing  but  the 
supper  and  his  departure  ;  not  a  syllable  aside  from  the  ques- 
tions asked,  not  even  an  expression  of  pity  for  Carmela.  But 
from  that  bare,  crude  letter  one  could  see  that  he  must  have 
felt  deep  pangs  of  remorse  while  writing  it.  If  this  had  not 
been  the  case,  at  least  some  feigned  expression  of  regret  or 
repentance  would  have  been  found  therein.  In  closing  he 
would  have  said  at  least :  "  I  hope  .  .  .  etc."  ;  but  there 
was  nothing  of  the  kind.  "At  one  o'clock  at  night  the  steamer 
left.  I  salute  you."  And  then  the  signature. 

IX. 

"  I  understand  !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  as  soon  as  his  friend 
had  finished  reading  him  the  letter  ;  "  now  I  understand  why 
not  one  of  all  the  persons  present  were  able  to  relate  any  of 
the  particulars.  I  do  not  doubt  it,  when  they  had  been  drink- 
ing like  that !  " 

That  same  day  both  began  to  make  preparations  for  the  great 
experiment.  Both  of  them  went  to  the  syndic,  judge,  receiver, 
marshal  of  the  carabineers,  and  the  others,  all  of  whom 
were  very  intimate ;  and  the  one,  the  doctor,  with  scientific 
arguments,  and  the  other  with  those  coming  from  the  heart,  by 
sheer  force  of  talking,  explaining,  and  demonstrating,  succeed- 
ed in  making  them  understand  what  it  was  all  about,  assuring 
themselves  of  their  assistance,  and  teaching  each  one  the  part  he 
was  to  play.  "  Heaven  be  praised  !  "  exclaimed  the  officer  on 
coming  out  of  the  receiver's  house,  which  was  the  last  visit ; 


178  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  the  greatest  part  of  the  work  is  accomplished."  Then  they 
sent  for  Carmela's  mother,  to  whom  it  was  far  easier  to  give 
an  explanation  of  the  affair,  than  to  the  syndic  and  other 
magnates ;  all  of  them  most  excellent  people,  to  be  sure,  in 
whom  one  could  confide,  but  a  little  dull  of  comprehension 
in  matters  of  that  description. 

Carmela  had  not  been  feeling  well  for  some  days,  and  had 
remained  at  home  almost  all  the  time.  The  officei  and  the 
doctor  went  to  look  for  her.  She  was  seated  on  the  ground 
outside  the  door,  with  her  back  leaning  against  the  wall.  As 
soon  as  she  saw  them  she  rose,  and  moving  a  trifle  more  slowly 
than  usual,  went  toward  the  lieutenant  and  tried,  as  was  her 
habit,  to  embrace  him,  murmuring,  in  a  feeble  voice,  her  cus- 
tomary words. 

"  Carmela  !  "  said  the  lieutenant,  "  we  have  a  piece  of  news 
for  you." 

"  A  piece  of  news,  a  piece  of  news,  a  piece  of  news,"  re- 
peated Carmela,  gently  passing  the  palm  of  her  hand  three 
times  over  the  officer's  cheek. 

"  To-morrow  I  am  going  away." 

"  To-morrow  I  am  going  away  ?  " 

"  I,  I  am  going  away.  I  am  going  away  from  here.  I  am 
going  to  leave  this  place.  I  am  going  to  leave  with  all  my  sol- 
diers I  shall  go  on  to  the  steamer,  and  the  steamer  will  carry 
me  far,  far  away." 

Saying  which  he  rased  his  arm  as  if  to  indicate  a  great  dis- 
tance. 

"  Far,  far  away,"  murmured  Carmela,  looking  in  the  di- 
rection the  officer  had  pointed.  She  seemed  to  be  thinking 
for  an  instant,  and  then  said,  vaguely,  in  quite  an  indifferent 
tone:  "  The  steamship  .  .  .  which  smokes/' 


CARMELA,  1/9 

And  she  tried  to  embrace  the  officer  again,  while  calling  him 
by  the  usual  names. 

"  It  produces  no  effect,"  thought  the  latter,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  You  must  say  it  many  times,"  whispered  the  doctor.  "  Let 
us  wait  until  a  little  later." 

And  off  they  went,  after  speaking  severely  to  Carmela,  so 
that  she  would  not  follow  them. 

The  supper  was  fixed  for  the  following  evening.  That  same 
evening  Carmela  went,  as  was  her  custom,  and  seated  herself 
before  the  officer's  door.  The  latter,  on  returning  home,  took 
her  up  stairs,  where  the  orderly,  according  to  orders,  had 
turned  every  thing  upside  down  as  if  the  departure  were  really 
to  take  place.  The  little  table,  chairs,  and  sofa  were  covered 
with  linen,  clothes,  books,  and  papers,  flung  here  and  there,  and 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  were  two  open  trunks,  in  which  the 
soldier  had  begun  to  place  the  clothing. 

Carmela  made  a  movement  of  surprise  at  the  first  sight  of 
the  disorder,  and  looked  smilingly  into  the  officer's  face. 

"  I  am  preparing  to  go  away,"  said  the  officer. 

Carmela  looked  around  the  room  again,  knitting  her  brows 
as  she  did  so  ;  a  thing  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of  doing.  The 
officer  watched  her  closely. 

"  I  am  going  away,  far  away  from  here  ;  I  am  going  on  the 
steamship." 

"  Are  you  going  on  the  steamship  ? " 

"  Yes    ...     I  am  going  to-morrow  evening. 

"  To-morrow  evening,"  repeated  Carmela  mechanically,  and 
seeing  the  guitar  on  a  chair,  she  touched  a  string  with  one  fin- 
ger and  made  it  sound. 


1 80  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

"  Are  you  not  sorry  that  I  am  going  away  ?  Will  you  not  re- 
gret never  seeing  me  again  ?  " 

Carmela  looked  at  him  fixedly,  and  then  dropped  her  head 
and  eyes  as  if  she  were  really  thinking.  The  officer  said  noth- 
ing more  and  began  talking  sotto  voce  with  the  soldier,  whom 
he  helped  to  fold  the  clothes. 

The  girl  stood  looking  at  them  without  opening  her  mouth. 
After  a  short  time,  the  officer  approached  her  and  said  : 

"  Now,  go  away,  Carmela  ;  you  have  been  here  long  enough. 
Go  home,  go." 

And  taking  her  by  the  arm,  he  pushed  her  gently  toward 
the  door.  She  stretched  out  her  arms  to  clasp  him  around 
the  neck.  .  .  . 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  do  so,"  said  the  officer. 

Carmela  stamped  her  foot  two  or  three  times,  stretched  out 
her  arms  again,  clasped  his  neck,  passed  her  mouth  over  his 
cheeks  without  kissing  him  as  if  she  were  thinking  of  some- 
thing else,  and  then  went  slowly  and  silently  away  without 
laughing  or  turning  back,  with  a  look  on  her  face  that  ex- 
pressed nothing,  like  an  abstracted  person  who  is  thinking  of 
a  thousand  things,  and  of  nothing,  at  once. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  thought  the  officer.  "  Can  this  be  a  good 
sign  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  if  God  only  willed  it  !  Let  us  hope  I  " 

The  following  day  he  did  not  leave  the  house,  and  would 
not  even  see  Carmela,  although  he  knew  that  she  was  seated 
as  usual,  at  the  door.  He  employed  the  entire  afternoon  in 
preparing  for  the  experiment  of  the  evening.  His  small  apart- 
ment was  composed  of  two  rooms  and  a  kitchen.  Between  the 
bedroom  and  the  entrance,  there  was  a  large  room,  whose 
windows,  like  those  of  the  other  one,  looked  out  into  the 


CARMELA.  l8l 

square.  In  this  room  he  had  the  supper  laid.  The  landlord, 
his  neighbor,  lent  him  an  immense  dining-table,  came  himself 
to  cook  in  the  house  the  few  dishes  that  were  needed,  and  set 
the  table  with  the  greatest  possible  luxury,  as  he  had  done 
three  years  before  for  the  other  officer.  Toward  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening  the  doctor  arrived,  the  first  comer.  "  She  is 
down  below,"  he  said  to  his  friend  on  entering  ;  "  she  was  com- 
plaining that  she  had  not  seen  you  yet.  I  asked  her  if  she  felt 
well,  and  she  replied,  after  looking  fixedly  at  me  :  '  Steamship,' 
and  she  did  not  laugh.  Well !  God  alone  can  tell  what  is 
passing  through  her  head.  Oh,  let  us  see  these  splendid  prep- 
arations !  " 

When  both  had  given  a  glance  at  the  table,  they  began  tq 
arrange  between  them  the  best  mode  of  representing  the 
comedy,  or  rather  the  drama,  because  to  them  it  was  a  drama 
and  a  serious  one  too.  When  the  matter  was  settled,  the  doc- 
tor asked  :  "  Have  they  all  learned  their  parts  well  ? "  and  the 
officer  replied  that  he  hoped  so. 

Shortly  before  ten  they  heard  a  shuffling  of  many  feet,  and 
a  confused  sound  of  voices.  "  They  are  here  !  "  said  the  doc- 
tor, and  he  looked  out  of  the  window.  "  It  is  really  they." 

The  soldier  went  down  and  opened  the  door.  The  doctor 
lighted  the  four  candelabra  at  the  four  corners  of  the  table. 

"  How  my  heart  beats  !  "  said  the  officer. 

"  Courage,  courage  !  " 

At  that  moment  they  heard  Carmela  exclaim  :  "  I  am  going 
on  the  steamship  too  !  "  and  then  she  began  clapping  her  hands. 

"  Courage  !  "  repeated  the  doctor  hastily  in  his  friend's  ear  ; 

***^r 

"  do  you  hear  that  ?  She  is  beginning  to  get  that  idea  into  her 
head  ;  it  is  a  good  sign  ;  take  heart  ;  here  are  your  guests  !  " 


1 82  MILITARY  LIFE. 

The  door  opened  and  the  syndic,  judge,  and  all  the  others 
who  had  met  at  the  cafe*,  entered  smiling  and  bowing.  While 
the  officer  was  welcoming  them,  and  thanking  now  one,  now 
the  other,  the  doctor  whispered  a  word  in  the  ear  of  the  orderly, 
who  stood  motionless  in  a  corner,  and  he  disappeared.  A 
moment  later,  without  any  one's  noticing  it,  he  returned  with 
Carmela,  and  both  of  them  passing  close  to  the  wall  on  tip-toe, 
entered  the  other  room. 

"  Let  us  be  seated,"  said  the  officer. 

All  took  their  places.  The  noise  of  the  moving  chairs  and 
that  "  Oh  ! "  long  and  blissful,  uttered  by  the  gourmets  when  sit- 
ting down  at  table,  did  not  allow  them  to  hear  a  slight  noise 
made  by  the  orderly  in  holding  back  Carmela,  who,  exclaiming  : 
"  I  have  not  seen  him  for  a  whole  day  !  "  had  opened  the  door 
and  attempted  to  dash  toward  the  officer.  The  orderly  held 
her  back,  placed  a  chair  near  the  door,  made  her  sit  down  ; 
then  opened  the  shutters  enough  to  leave  a  space  as  wide  as  your 
hand,  and  she  placed  her  face  to  the  aperture  and  stood  look- 
ing on.  None  of  the  guests  turned  in  that  direction,  no  one 
looked  then  or  later,  and  Carmela  made  no  other  movement. 

Little  by  little  the  confused  clatter  of  forks,  knives,  glasses, 
and  plates,  and  laughter  and  discordant  voices  that  tried  to  over- 
power their  neighbors',  began  to  increase.  All  save  the  doctor 
and  officer  were  eating  with  the  best  appetite  in  the  world, 
and  tippling  gayly.  They  began  by  giving  the  loudest  praises 
to  the  discipline,  virtue,  valor,  and  courtesy  of  the  soldiers, 
corporals,  and  sergeants  of  the  detachment ;  then  they  enlarged 
upon  the  choice  quality  of  the  wines  and  viands  ;  then  talked 
of  the  weather,  which  was  very  fine, — an  enchanting  night, — 
and  of  the  voyage,  which  ought  to  be  delightful ;  then  discussed 


CARMELA.  183 

politics,  then  the  soldiers  again,  once  more  the  voyage,  and  so, 
talking  more  and  more  loudly,  laughing  harder,  emptying  their 
glasses  in  greater  haste,  until  all  their  faces  became  rubicund, 
their  eyes  gleaming,  the  motion  of  their  lips  rather  difficult, 
and  their  words  followed  each  other  without  any  connection 
whatsoever.  Almost  involuntarily  each  one  had  taken  his  part 
seriously,  and  represented  it  marvellously.  But  the  more  the 
others  forgot  the  end  for  which  they  had  assembled,  the  more 
the  officer  felt  his  heart-beat  increase,  and  he  showed  openly 
on  his  face  the  tempest  raging  in  his  soul.  No  one,  however, 
discovered  it,  save  the  doctor,  who,  from  time  to  time  begged 
him  in  a  loud  voice  not  to  lose  courage,  and  kept  his  eye  upon 
Carmela.  The  latter  was  always  immovable  and  intent,  with 
her  face  pressed  between  the  shutters.  The  orderly,  seizing 
an  opportune  moment,  had  taken  himself  off. 

At  a  certain  point  three  soldiers  entered  the  room,  and  each 
took  on  his  shoulders  one  of  the  three  trunks  that  were  in  a 
corner,  and  then  passed  out.  Carmela  followed  all  their  move- 
ments with  her  eye  until  they  had  disappeared,  then  continued 
looking  at  the  table. 

The  doctor  murmured  a  word  in  the  syndic's  ear  : 
"  A  toast,"  the  latter  suddenly  exclaimed,  rising  with  diffi- 
culty to  his  feet,  his  glass  in  his  hand.  "A  toast  to  the  health 
of  this  valorous  lieutenant  who  commands  the  brave  detach- 
ment of  the  town  that  is  going  away,  and  let  there  remain  per- 
petually and  forever  in  this  our  town  a  beautiful,  undying,  and 
immortal  memory  of  the  brave  detachment  commanded  by  this 
valorous  .  .  ." 

He  thought  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  resolutely  : 

"  Long  live  the  lieutenant  who  departs !  "      And  they  all 


1 84  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

rose  noisily,  clinking  their  glasses  and  spilling  the  wine  on  the 
table  :  "  Evviva !  " 

The  syndic  fell  heavily  on  to  his  chair,  and  there  were 
grounds  for  suspicion  that  he  was  really  intoxicated. 

Others  offered  toasts  of  the  same  nature,  and  then  they  all 
began  talking  again,  in  one  voice,  of  the  soldiers,  politics,  the 
wine,  and  the  voyage. 

"  Mr.  Receiver,  give  us  a  song  !  "  cried  the  doctor. 

All  the  others  echoed  this  request.  The  receiver  excused 
himself,  allowed  them  to  beg  him  a  little,  then  smiled,  coughed, 
took  the  guitar,  and  sang  two  or  three  verses.  The  guests 
began  to  grow  noisy  again,  and  interrupted  him. 

"  It 's  my  turn,"  said  the  officer,  and  all  were  silent.  He  took 
the  guitar,  tuned  it,  rose  to  his  feet,  pretended  to  stagger,  and 
began.  .  .  .  He  was  pale  as  death,  and  his  hands  trembled 
as  if  with  fever ;  notwithstanding  which  he  sang  his  song  with  a 
sweetness  and  feeling  that  was  really  charming. 

Carmela,  ai  tuoi  ginocchi. 
Placidamente  assiso, 
Guardandoti  negli  occhi 
Baciandoti  nel  viso 
Trascorrero  i  miei  dl. 

Carmela  listened  more  and  more  intently,  knitting  her  brows 
from  time  to  time,  like  a  person  absorbed  in  deep  meditation. 

"  Bravo  !  Good  !  Very  well,  indeed  !  "  said  all  the  guests 
in  one  voice.  And  the  officer  continued  • 

L'  ultimo  d\,  sul  seno 
II  volto  scolorito 
Ti  celer6,  sereno 
Come  un  fanciul  sopito, 
E  moriro  cosi. 


CARMELA,  185 

These  were  the  words  and  music,  and  every  thing  round 
about  was  exactly  the  same  as  on  that  night.  "  Bravo ! 
Good  !  "  repeated  all  the  guests.  The  officer  fell  back,  as  if 
exhausted,  upon  his  chair  ;  all  began  to  shout ;  Carmela  was  as 
immovable  as  a  statue,  and  kept  her  eye  steadily  fastened  on 
the  officer's  face.  The  doctor  looked  at  her  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eye. 

"  Silence !  "  shouted  the  lieutenant.  All  stopped,  and,  the 
window  being  open,  they  heard  the  gay  music  of  flutes  and 
violins  down  in  the  square  together  with  the  noise  of  a  crowd 
of  people.  They  were  the  ten  or  twelve  musicians  of  the  place, 
surrounded  by  a  great  portion  of  the  population,  who  thought 
the  detachment  was  really  going. 

Carmela  stirred,  and  turned  toward  the  window.  Her  face 
began  to  grow  gently  animated,  and  her  great  eyes  to  move 
restlessly  from  the  window  to  the  lieutenant,  from  the  latter  to 
the  guests,  and  back  again  to  the  window,  as  if  she  wished  to 
hear  the  music  well  and  at  the  same  time  not  to  lose  the  slight- 
est movement  made  by  all  those  people. 

When  the  music  ceased,  a  great  part  of  the  crowd  began 
clapping  their  hands,  as  they  had  done  on  the  same  occasion 
three  years  before. 

At  this  point  the  orderly  advanced  hurriedly  : 

"Lieutenant,  the  ship  is  waiting." 

The  lieutenant  rose  to  his  feet,  saying  aloud  : 

"  I  must  go." 

Carmela  rose  softly  too,  keeping  her  eyes  fastened  upon  him 
and  slowly  moving  the  chair. 

All  the  guests  stood  up  and  pressed  around  the  lieutenant. 
At  that  same  instant  Carmela's  mother  appeared,  entered  .the 


1 86  MILITARY  LIFE. 

other  room  unseen,  put  her  arms  around  her  daughter,  and  said  : 
"  Be  brave  ;  he  will  return  in  two  months." 

Carmela  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  mother's  face,  slowly  removed 
one  arm  and  then  the  other,  and,  without  uttering  a  word, 
turned  her  head  slowly,  and  again  fastened  her  eyes  on  the 
officer. 

All  the  guests  shook  hands  with  the  officer,  giving  rise  to  a 
confused  murmur  of  thanks,  good  wishes,  and  salutations  ;  he 
buckled  on  his  sword,  put  on  his  cap,  slung  the  travelling-bag 
over  his  shoulder  .  .  . 

While  he  was  doing  this,  Carmela  had  unconsciously  opened 
the  door,  taken  a  step  forward,  and  with  her  wild  eyes  looked 
rapidly  now  at  the  officer,  now  at  the  guests,  now  at  the  orderly, 
finally  at  her  mother  who  was  near  her,  and  with  both  hands 
rubbed  her  forehead,  rumpled  her  hair,  sighed  wearily,  and 
trembled  convulsively  all  over. 

Once  more  the  music  in  the  square  began,  another  burst  of 
applause  was  heard. 

"  Let  us  go  !  "  said  the  officer  resolutely,  and  he  turned  to 
leave. 

A  shrill,  desperate,  agonizing  shriek  broke  from  Carmela's 
breast.  At  the  same  moment  she  dashed  with  one  spring  upon 
the  lieutenant,  seized  him  with  superhuman  force  about  the 
waist,  and  began  to  kiss  him  furiously  on  his  face,  neck,  chest, 
wherever  she  could,  sobbing,  shouting,  groaning,  and  feeling 
his  shoulders,  arms,  and  head,  as  a  mother  would  the  son  saved 
from  the  fury  of  the  waves  that  had  shortly  before  enveloped 
him,  and  from  which  she  had  seen  him  stretch  out  his  arms  and 
beg  for  assistance.  After  a  few  moments  the  poor  girl  fell 
senseless  to  the  floor  at  the  officer's  feet. 


At  the  same  moment  she  dashed  with  one  spring  upon  the  lieutenant,  sei/ed 
him  with  superhuman  force  about  the  waist,  and  began  to  kiss 

him  furiously  on  his  face,  neck,  chest,"  etc. 

(Page  186.) 


CARMELA.  IS/ 

She  was  saved ! 

The  lieutenant  threw  himself  into  the  doctor's  arms,  which 
were  outstretched  waiting  for  him.  The  mother  bent  to  kiss 
and  bathe  her  daughter  with  her  tears.  All  those  present 
raised  their  faces  and  arms  toward  heaven  in  sign  of  thanks- 
giving. The  music  continued  playing. 

Four  months  after,  on  a  beautiful  night  in  September,  so 
clear  that  it  seemed  like  day,  the  ship  which  had  left  Tunis 
that  evening,  and  stopped  as  usual  at  the  harbor  of  our  little 
town,  moved  off  rapidly  toward  the  Sicilian  coast.  The  water 
was  so  calm  that  the  ship  hardly  seemed  to  move.  The  pas- 
sengers were  all  on  deck,  and  stood  contemplating  in  silence 
the  clear  sky  and  the  sea  illuminated  by  the  moon. 

Apart  from  the  others  and  turned  in  the  opposite  direction 
from  the  ship's  course,  were  a  young  man  and  girl  leaning  on 
the  railing,  arm  in  arm,  with  their  heads  so  close  together  that 
they  almost  touched.  Far  away  in  the  distance  one  could  still 
see  confusedly  the  island  they  had  left,  and  they  were  look- 
ing at  it.  They  remained  a  long  time  without  changing  their 
attitudes,  until  the  woman,  raising  her  face,  murmured  : 

"  Yet  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  leave  my  poor  little  home, 
where  I  have  suffered  so  much,  where  I  saw  you  for  the  first 
time,  where  you  restored  me  to  life." 

And  she  laid  her  head  on  her  companion's  shoulder. 

"  We  will  return  there  some  day  !  "  the  latter  said  to  her, 
turning  her  head  gently,  so  that  he  could  look  into  her  eyes. 

"  And  shall  we  return  to  your  house  ? "   she  asked  softly. 

"Yes." 

"  And  in  the  evening  will  we  sit  and  talk  by  the  window 
from  which  you  once  called  me  ? " 


1 88  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  will  you  play  the  guitar  again,  and  sing  once  more 
that  song  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"Sing  it  now!"  exclaimed  Carmela  with  joy;  "sing  it 
softly." 

Then  the  officer  placing  his  mouth  at  her  ear  sang  : 

Carmela,  ai  tuoi  ginocchi 
Placidamente    .     .     . 

Carmela  threw  her  arms  around  her  husband's  neck,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Poor,  dear  one,"  said  the  latter,  pressing  her  to  his  breast ; 
"  here,  here,  on  my  heart,  always  here  !  " 

The  poor  thing  drew  back  suddenly,  looked  around  her,  at 
the  sea,  the  island,  her  husband,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  it  fs  a  dream  !  " 

And  the  young  man,  interrupting  her,  replied  :  ;  \ 

"  No,  darling,  it  's  the  waking  !  " 

The  ship  swept  on  as  if  borne  by  the  wind. 


"Apart  from  the  others,  and  turned  in  the  opposite  direction  from  the  ship's  course, 
were  a  young  man  and  girl  leaning  on  the  railing,  arm  in  arm,"  etc. 

(Page  187.) 


THAT   DAY. 

"  IT  is  your  turn,"  a  young  lady  once  said  to  an  officer  just 
returned  from  the  war  ;  "  tell  me  what  one  really  feels,  what  one 
really  experiences  in  those  terrible  moments.  But  be  concise, 
I  beg  of  you.  You  military  men,  when  you  get  talking  of  the 
war,  recount  very  marvellous  tales,  and  find  people  who  swal- 
low them  ;  but  I  am  not  one  of  the  number,  I  warn  you.  Tell 
me  the  truth  and  nothing  more,  without  any  of  the  fine  rhetoric 
which  I  have  had  too  much  of  already  in  reading  descriptions 
of  battles,  for  they  are  all  written  in  the  same  style." 

"  Tell,  tell,  is  easily  said,"  replied  the  officer,  "  but  without 
any  preparation  ?  Give  me  time  at  least  to  collect  and  put  my 
reminiscences  in  order,  if  not  I  shall  give  you  an  account  with- 
out any  head  or  tail." 

"  No  !  my  dear  sir  ;  no  preparations  !  I  do  not  wish  a 
philosophical  dissertation,  and,  much  less,  a  page  of  military 
history.  Tell  me  quickly  and  as  best  you  can,  all  that  you 
have  seen." 

"  Do  you  insist  upon  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  absolutely." 

"  I  will  begin  ;  but  remember,  I  shall  not  tell  one  word  more 
than  what  I  have  seen  ;  if  the  story  does  not  please  you,  it  will 
not  be  my  fault." 

"  Be  concise,  and  do  not  try  to  be  any  thing  more.  Begin  !  " 

189 


IQO  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  I  will  begin,  and  first  of  all,  let  me  give  you  an  idea  of  the 
ground.  Give  attention.  We  will  suppose  that  this  is  a  chain 
of  the  Alps  ;  that  first  line  up  hill  .  .  ." 

"  Topography  ?  oh,  for  pity  sake  !  " 

"  You  do  not  wish  it  ?  Well,  then,  I  will  explain  myself  in 
another  way  ;  it  will  be  better  so.  Let  us  suppose,  then,  that 
we  are  out  in  the  open  country,  one  beautiful,  clear,  quiet  sum- 
mer morning.  Let  us  suppose  that,  beginning  here  under  our 
feet,  the  ground  rises  gradually,  until  it  forms  a  lovely  broad, 
high  hill  in  regular  curves,  whose  top  stands  out  against  the 
horizon,  about  half  an  hour's  walk  from  us.  It  is  a  beautiful 
green  hill,  sprinkled  half  way  down  with  hedges,  trees,  and 
long  rows  of  grape-vines,  ploughed  with  ditches,  and  traversed 
in  every  direction  by  paths  and  low  walls  of  heaped-up  stones, 
such  as  mark  the  limits  of  farms :  here,  a  bit  of  ground  covered 
with  grass  and  plants  ;  there,  broken  and  reddish,  covered  with 
stones ;  here,  an  easy  bit ;  there,  suddenly  steep  and  barren.  Do 
you  see  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  suppose  one  thing  more  :  that  a  good  part  of  the  hill, 
from  the  top  down,  is  entirely  free  from  trees  and  houses,  bare 
and  clean,  where  the  sun  beats  in  such  a  way  that  every  furrow, 
bush,  and  person  would  be  visible,  if  there  were  any  people. 
You  see  a  person,  let  us  suppose,  as  tall  as  this,  so  that  you  can 
tell  whether  it  is  a  man  or  woman.  Are  you  laughing  ?  I  tell 
you  this  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the  distance." 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

"  Well,  then,  that  morning  we  were  at  the  foot  of  a  hill  like 
the  one  I  have  described,  and  were  waiting.  Here,  there,  to 
the  right  and  left,  in  the  distance,  behind  the  trees  and  bushes, 


THAT  DAY.  IQI 

among  the  vines,  in  the  ditches,  everywhere,  in  fact,  there  were 
soldiers,  standing,  seated,  lying  down,  some  with  bare  heads, 
some  with  coats  unbuttoned,  some  with  their  muskets  on  the 
ground,  others  with  theirs  across  their  knees, — all  grave  and 
thoughtful.  Although  divided  and  scattered,  there  was  still 
some  appearance  of  order  in  the  column.  The  officers  were 
standing  in  groups,  and  talked  in  an  undertone  among  them- 
selves, in  few  words, — monosyllables  and  gestures, — raising 
their  eyes,  from  time  to  time,  to  look  around  and  back  of  them. 
But  the  majority  looked  up,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for 
something  from  that  quarter  ;  every  glance  was  directed  toward 
the  summit,  as  if  something  would  appear  from  one  moment  to 
the  other.  And,  in  fact,  at  a  certain  point,  where  there  was  a 
thick  clump  of  cypresses,  a  long  black  spot  appeared,  moving 
slowly,  slowly  forward,  so  that  it  seemed  like  one  of  those  broad 
shadows  that  isolated  cloudlets  cast  in  passing  before  the  sun. 
As  it  advanced,  it  broadened  out  and  moved  more  quickly.  It 
was  a  column  of  soldiers,  all  bristling  with  bayonets,  which  sent 
an  undulating  flash  from  one  end  to  the  other,  like  a  black  tor- 
rent covered  with  silver  spangles.  We  were  all  silent  and  mo- 
tionless, our  mouths  half  open,  our  eyes  fixed  on  that  line, 
watching  its  steps,  noting  all  the  undulations  ;  not  a  breath  was 
heard  in  the  whole  battalion,  not  a  gesture  was  seen  ;  the  sol- 
diers all  seemed  statues.  Suddenly  a  voice  shouted  :  '  There, 
look  on  the  other  side  ! '  We  all  turned  the  other  way.  And, 
in  fact,  on  the  right,  on  the  summit,  where  there  was  a  hovel, 
another  troop,  broader,  deeper,  and  gleaming  too  with  bayonets, 
advanced  rapidly,  resolutely,  and  with  serrated  ranks  in  an 
opposite  direction  from  the  first.  Then  an  excited  murmur 
rose:  'How  many  are  there?'  'A  regiment?'  'No,  two 


I92  MILITARY  LIFE. 

battalions.'  'Or  one?'  'No,  no,  two.'  'Three.'  'They 
look  like  sharp-shooters.'  '  No,  infantry.'  '  Sharp-shooters.' 
'But,  no.'  'But  yes;  see  their  feathers.'  '  They  are  stopping.' 
'  Do  you  think  so  ? '  '  Yes,  they  have  stopped,  I  tell  you  ! '  '  No, 
see  how  they  move  ! '  Meanwhile  the  ground  between  the  two 
bodies  was  diminishing.  We  measured  it  from  moment  to  mo- 
ment. Our  eyes  ran,  without  stopping,  from  one  troop  to  the 
other,  from  the  latter  back  with  the  rapidity  of  thought,  hungrily 
and  expectantly  ;  all  our  life  was  in  our  eyes  ;  all  our  soul  was 
up  there.  The  ground  between  the  two  went  on  diminishing, 
and  the  two  bodies  were  very  near,  and  marched  rapidly,  a 
trifle  disordered  and  confused.  We,  with  our  eyes  dilated,  mo- 
tionless, nailed  to  the  spot,  our  hearts  beating,  and  our  breath 
bated. 

"  Suddenly,  almost  instantaneously,  a  bright  light  flashed  from 
those  two  bodies,  fell,  and  was  extinguished  ;  they  had  lowered 
their  bayonets,  and  instantly  thereafter  began  running.  A 
shout,  that  must  have  been  tremendous,  came  faintly  to  our 
ears. 

"  We  replied  with  a  shudder. 

"  Ah,  they  are  within  a  few  steps  of  each  other;  they  will 
clash  ;  have  done  so ;  one  gives  way,  spreads,  draws  back, 
breaks,  and  scatters  to  right  and  left  ;  it  is  a  rout. 

"  A  fresh  shout,  a  cry  of  joy  reaches  us  ;  and  this  time  we  re- 
spond too.  Our  shout,  ready  for  so  long  a  time,  but  sup- 
pressed, suffocated,  and  strangled,  came  up  and  burst  out  from 
the  depths  of  our  souls,  and  was  savagely  long  and  sharp. 

"  The  victorious  band  stopped  an  instant,  then  continued  its 
run,  caught  up  with  the  fugitives,  moved  off  behind  them,  be- 
came only  a  black  point,  and  then  disappeared. 


THAT  DAY.  193 

"At  that  point  a  high,  vibratory  voice  resounded  in  our 
midst :  *  It  is  your  turn  now.  To  your  place  ! ' 

"  It  was  the  voice  of  our  major. 

"Try  letting  drop  a  flaming  piece  of  paper  over  one  of  those 
lar^e,  thick  ant  hills,  which  at  a  few  steps'  distance  seem  quite 
immovable,  and  look  like  ugly  black  spots,  which  you  cannot 
make  out  at  first.  The  little  troop,  quite  frightened,  turns1 
dizzily  in  every  direction,  and  rushes  toward  the  subterranean 
passage.  Try  the  first  !  The  others  press  forward,  dash  over 
one  another  ;  that  passage  is  closed  ?  quick,  another  ;  this, 
too  ?  on  to  a  third  ;  this,  too  ?  back  then  to  the  first.  When  the 
greater  number  have  dashed  into  the  hole,  many  unfortunate 
ones  are  wandering  around  in  a  desperate  manner,  quite  blindly, 
more  dead  than  alive,  until  they,  too,  find  a  place  of  safety, 
although  a  trifle  late,  and,  perhaps,  at  the  cost  of  some  burns. 

"When  the  first  terror  is  passed,  the  same  thing  occurs 
among  the  soldiers  at  the  sound  of  that  voice. 

"  In  a  twinkling  all  were  up  and  in  arms  ;  the  ranks  were 
quickly  formed  ;  there  was  a  great  ferment,  a  whispering,  a  push- 
ing and  squeezing,  and  then  all  became  quiet.  Some  ran  here 
and  there  in  search  of  their  places ;  he  who  found  it  pushed 
into  it  ;  he  who  did  not,  made  one  for  himself  with  his  elbows  : 
the  battalion  was  in  order. 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  spectacle  !  That  multitude  a  short  time 
before  scattered  and  stretched  out  with  loosened  clothes  and 
belts,  their  arms  on  the  ground,  up  in  an  instant  in  line,  mo- 
tionless and  silent,  prepared  for  death.  It  is  sufficient  to  look 
them  in  the  eye,  to  understand  that  they  are  men  who  will 
see  the  enemy's  backs,  or  cover  the  ground  with  their  bodies. 
The  flag  is  motionless ;  the  arm  which  holds  it  does  not 


194  MILITARY  LIFE. 

tremble.  In  the  midst  of  the  soldiers,  who  form  a  hedge  around 
it  with  their  bayonets,  there  are  superb  faces  and  flashing 
eyes. 

"  '  Forward  ! '  sounds  the  well-known  voice. 

"An  instantaneous  movement  throughout  the  column,  a 
shudder,  a  murmur  ;  then  quiet.  '  Forward  ! '  the  captains 
repeat. 

"  Forward,  then,  up  the  hill.  The  company  at  the  head  hesi- 
tates a  moment  in  front  of  the  first  hedge  in  its  way  ;  the  com- 
panies which  are  following  crowd  behind  ;  the  heavy  column 
closes  up,  oscillates  and  totters  from  the  head  to  the  rear  on  the 
uneven  ground  ;  then  breaks,  broadens,  draws  in,  stretches  out, 
forms  again,  begins  crowding  again  with  ceaseless  bustle,  with 
sudden  starts  and  stops,  unequal  steps  and  bounds.  He  who 
is  at  the  rear  is  thrown  back  by  the  knapsack  of  the  man  in 
front  of  him,  which  strikes  him  in  the  chest ;  now,  a  man  is 
suddenly  precipitated  on  to  the  one  in  front  of  him,  and  stag- 
gering, pushes  him  forward  ;  he  who  is  at  the  flank,  tossed  here 
and  there  sideways,  and  by  blows  from  the  elbow  and  knap- 
sacks, goes  up  zigzag  and  staggering,  his  head  down,  and  his 
legs  wide-stretched.  Here  is  a  hedge :  up  with  the  legs  and 
muskets.  There  a  ditch  :  quick,  it  is  passed.  Here  an  eleva- 
tion of  ground  :  courage,  up,  without  any  disorder.  There  an 
interlacing  of  branches,  which  fall  across  one's  face :  away  with 
it  with  the  hand,  and  down  with  the  heads.  A  vine  forms  an 
obstruction  :  out  with  the  sword,  it  is  on  the  ground,  forward. 
Grass,  vines,  hedges,  bushes,  ditches,  paths,  all  change,  every 
thing  falls  and  disappears  under  that  wave,  that  weight,  that 
precipitous  tread,  of  that  irregular  multitude.  Here  the  ground 
is  steep,  here  stony:  the  foot  slips,  many  fall ;  up  on  the  elbows, 


THAT  DAY.  1 95 

up,  strength,  on  to  the  feet,  forward.  Many  help  themselves 
with  their  hands,  the  butt-end  of  the  musket,  or  their  knees  ; 
the  trunks,  clods,  stones,  roots, — every  thing,  in  fact,  serves  as  a 
support  to  the  trembling  hand  ;  the  crowd  climbs,  slips,  is  piled 
up,  here  dense,  there  thinner,  scattered,  separated,  but  tenacious, 
resolute,  and  raging.  Meanwhile  our  strength  decreases,  and  the 
sun  drives  us  mad,  and  here  in  our  hearts  we  are  burning.  .  . 
Not  climb  any  further  ;  courage  ;  give  a  glance  up  and  see  how 
much  remains  :  a  little  only.  A  glance  backward  :  a  long  line  of 
fallen  who  stretch  out  their  arms  ;  many  try  to  rise,  and  fall. 
We  are  almost  there  ;  they  must  have  seen  us.  A  moment 
more, — ah  !  A  cry,  long,  sharp,  shrill,  and  fierce,  passes  over  the 
heads  of  the  column.  A  joyful  shout,  a  deep  shudder,  all  on 
the  ground.  '  Up  with  those  heads  ! '  shouts  the  major  ; 
'  when  you  hear  the  whistle  it  has  passed.'  All  are  on  their 
feet — here  we  are  ;  they  have  seen  us  ;  let  us  close  up  the 
ranks  ;  down  with  the  bayonets  ;  quicken  the  pace.  Under  ! 
Another  cry  longer,  sharper,  more  penetrating,  nearer,  and  more 
frightful  :  all  on  the  ground.  '  Up,  for  heaven's  sake,  boys  ! ' 
comes  from  the  same  voice  ;  '  look  death  in  the  face  !  Don't 
be  afraid  !  '  Another  whistle  ;  another  ;  all  unharmed  ;  we  are 
safe  ;  here  we  are  on  the  crest  ;  let  us  wait  ;  halt ! 

"  All  turn  their  eyes  around  in  astonishment  :  What  an 
immense  and  superb  plain  !  The  sky,  which  was  very  clear, 
permitted  us  to  see  the  most  distant  horizon.  On  one  side,  far 
away  in  the  distance,  mountains  behind  mountains,  high,  blue, 
and  clear ;  on  the  other  side  plains.  The  entire  green  plain 
was  ploughed  here  and  there  by  long,  slender  white  lines, 
which  intersected  at  many  points  and  were  lost  among  the  dis- 
tant trees,  raising  at  certain  times  great  clouds  of  dust  which 


1 96  MI  LIT  A  R  Y  LIFE. 

appeared  very  pure  as  they  were  touched  by  the  sun,  and 
stretched  out  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  roads  :  those  white 
lines  were  the  roads  that  we  had  taken  that  morning ;  those 
clouds  of  dust  revealed  the  advance  of  the  Italian  columns. 
There  were  a  fdw  thatched  houses  here  and  there,  half  hidden 
among  the  trees,  as  if  they  were  afraid  and  did  not  wish  to  see 
what  was  taking  place  up  there.  Below,  quite  far  down,  Villa- 
franca  was  the  nearest  and  silent  spectator.  On  the  other, 
toward  the  enemy,  there  were  dark  spots  among  the  side 
green  of  the  fields,  and  an  uncertain  gleaming  of  bayonets, 
which  now  advanced,  now  stopped,  now  pointing  to  the  left  or 
right,  almost  as  if  uncertain  toward  which  point  they  should 
move  and  proceed  circumspectly.  Nearer  us,  on  the  same 
plain,  were  four  or  five  Austrian  cannon  which  were  roaring 
slowly  and  continuously.  On  the  opposite  side,  directly  at  the 
foot  of  our  hill,  as  many  of  our  cannon  were  firing  like  the  first 
but  more  slowly.  Behind  us  on  the  slope  of  the  neighboring 
hill,  we  could  see  a  dense  white  smoke,  and  hear  a  quick  firing 
of  muskets  ;  it  was  the  extreme  flank  of  another  division.  We 
saw  nothing  more,  or,  at  least,  I  do  not  remember  any  thing 
further.  We  stood  waiting  there,  contemplating  that  marvel- 
lous spectacle. 

"  In  the  time  of  great  excitement,  when  some  strong  emotion 
moves  us,  the  mind  often,  almost  unconscious  of  what  is  pass- 
ing in  the  soul,  becomes  abstracted  little  by  little,  and  wanders 
and  abandons  itself  to  the  strangest  and  most  childish  thoughts 
and  fancies,  as  if  that  passing  hour  were  one  of  the  most  idle 
and  quiet  of  our  daily  life.  Thus,  perceiving  a  distant 
bell-tower,  I  thought :  'It  is  Sunday.  The  people  there  this 
morning,  in  holiday  dress,  have  gone  out  joyfully  into  the 


THAT  DAY.  197 

street,  then  to  church,  then  have  finished  their  work,  just  as  on 
any  other  day,  quietly  and  contentedly.'  Then  breaking  away 
from  this  fancy,  I  saw  all  those  women  on  their  knees  in 
church,  absorbed  in  their  prayers,  and  I  watched  their  faces 
and  said  :  'That  one,  yes,  that  one  there  is  the  mother  of  a 
soldier ' ;  and  at  every  roar  of  the  cannon  I  saw  her  grow  pale 
and  tremble. 

"  Suddenly,  a  sergeant  who  was  seated  near  me,  rose  to  his 
feet,  took  two  or  three  steps  with  his  head  raised,  a  smile  on 
his  face,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  distance,  toward  the  moun- 
tains ;  then  he  stretched  out  his  arm,  pointed  his  forefinger  in 
that  direction,  stopped  an  instant,  looked  at  his  comrades,  and 
shouted  in  a  high,  clear  voice  :  '  Boys  !  come  here  ! '  Many 
rose  and  gathered  around  him.  '  Look  ! '  he  added,  keeping 
his  arm  stretched  out  and  his  finger  still  pointing  in  the  same 
direction.  'Do  you  see  that  distant  tower  down  there,  and 
that  house  ? '  '  Where  ?  where  ? '  many  others  asked  as  they 
hurried  toward  him.  '  There,  there,  look  where  I  am  point- 
ing.' 'I  see,'  said  one.  'I  too.'  'I  too.'  'We  all  see.' 
"'Well?' 

"  'Well ! '  he  exclaimed  in  a  deep  and  trembling  voice,  'that 
is  Verona ! ' 

"  '  Verona  !  Verona  ! '  they  all  shouted,  clapping  their  hands  ; 
the  rumor  spread  ;  in  a  moment  the  entire  battalion  was  there, 
every  face  turned  in  that  direction,  every  arm  stretched  toward 
that  tower,  their  mouths  open  for  that  shout,  looking,  as  one 
looks  .  .  .  Have  you  ever  been  a  long  time  without  see- 
ing your  mother?  If  you  had  been  waiting  for  her  arrival, 
you  would  have  fixed  your  eyes  anxiously  along  the  road  by 
which  she  was  to  arrive,  and  when  far  away  in  the  distance 


198  M1LITAR  Y  LIFE. 

you  discovered  a  black  speck,  or  a  little  white  cloud  of  smoke, 
and  the  blast  of  a  horn  reached  your  ear,  dear  reader,  what 
would  you  have  felt  in  your  heart  ?  Just  what  we  felt,  fixing 
our  eyes  on  those  most  desired  towers  .  .  .  shouting  that 
dear  name.  .  .  . 

|  "  All  four  battalions  of  the  regiment  were  up  there.  Sud- 
denly a  loud  shout  is  heard,  all  the  soldiers  spring  to  their 
feet,  the  officers  give  the  order  :  '  To  your  place  !  '  the  com- 
panies reform,  and  all  are  silent.  Another  shout,  and  the 
officers  repeat :  'Bayonets  fixed  !  '  and  all  four  battalions  fix 
their  bayonets,  then  another  period  of  silence  follows.  '  What 
is  it?  What  has  happened  ? '  all  ask.  The  colonel's  adjutant 
arrives  on  horseback,  approaches  our  major,  and  whispers 
in  his  ear.  '  Forward  ! '  shouts  the  major.  The  battalion 
moves,  passes  the  summit  of  the  mountain,  and  descends  the 
slope  on  the  enemy's  side.  All  those  behind,  and  I  among  the 
number,  stretch  out  their  necks,  and  put  out  their  heads  to 
the  right  and  left  to  see  where  we  are  going ;  but  we  cannot 
see  any  thing,  as  the  first  company  impedes  our  view.  I  turn 
back  and  see  the  other  battalions  following  us  slowly  in  the 
distance.  At  a  certain  point,  when  the  last  company  has 
reached  a  slight  elevation  of  ground,  I  catch  a  glimpse  in  the 
distance,  among  the  trees,  a  movement,  a  gleaming  .  .  . 

"At  the  same  instant  I  hear  a -terrible  explosion,  and  sharp 
whistles  on  the  right  and  left,  at  my  feet,  above  my  head,  an 
agonizing  cry  a  few  steps  from  me,  and  in  the  distance  a  great 
cloud  of  white  smoke,  then  a  powerful  shout  :  '  Charge  with 
the  bayonets."  The  disordered  battalion  dashes  forward  on 
quick  step.  Another  cry  :  '  Savoy  ! '  The  battalion  breaks 
out  into  a  loud  shout  and  starts  on  a  run  ;  nothing  but  smoke 


Oh  !  here  is  a  door  ;  enter  quickly  with  lowered  bayonets  ;  a  court-yard,  the 
enemy,  a  flag  ;  courage,  on  to  them  !      Around  the  flag  is  a  bulwark 
of  breasts,  bristling  with  motionless  bayonets." 

(Page  199.) 


THAT  DAY.  199 

is  to  be  seen  ;  another  explosion  ;  other  whistles  ;  forward, 
forward  .  .  .  Halt !  The  trumpet  has  sounded  the  halt. 
Where  are  we  ?  Where  is  the  enemy  ?  What  are  they  doing  ? 
Oh,  what  smoke  !  The  battalion  is  all  scattered.  Here  is  a 
house !  It  seems  as  if  they  were  firing  from  that  house. 
'  Charge  with  the  bayonet  ! '  we  hear  confusedly  in  the 
midst  of  the  musket-firing  ;  the  battalion  dashes  forward  ; 
where  are  we  going  ?  how  do  we  get  there  ?  There  is  nothing 
to  be  seen.  Oh  !  here  is  a  door  ;  enter  quickly  with  lowered 
bayonets  ;  a  court  yard,  the  enemy,  a  flag ;  courage,  on  to 
them.  Around  the  flag  is  a  bulwark  of  breasts,  bristling  with 
motionless  bayonets.  The  first,  overcome,  fall  on  to  the 
others,  firm  as  a  column ;  the  furious  assault  stops,  and 
then  begins  a  precipitous  shower  of  blows  that  we  hear 
but  cannot  see  ;  the  bayonets  cross  and  strike,  resounding 
sharply  ;  the  broken  muskets  crack ;  there  are  horrible  shouts 
stifled  by  suffocation,  and  broken  groans  that  follow  the  force 
of  the  blows  ;  the  weapons  are  straightened,  the  crowd  thickens, 
the  combatants  dash  at  each  other,  form  groups,  jammed  to- 
gether, face  to  face.  The  soldiers  seize  the  bayonets,  take 
each  other  by  the  throat,  cross  legs  and  arms,  seize  and/break 
away  from  each  other,  fall,  rise  pale  and  breathless,  with  teeth 
set,  and  bare  and  bleeding  heads.  One  feels  the  heated  breath 
of  the  other  in  his  face  ;  at  every  moment  a  face  becomes  pale 
and  a  head  falls  back  with  distorted  eyes  ;  the  ground  is  covered 
with  the  fallen  ;  the  group  around  the  banner  has  became  thin- 
ner ;  the  standard-bearer  has  been  hit  in  the  breast  by  a  bayonet. 
'  Your  turn,'  shouts  a  dying  voice  ;  another  has  seized  the  flag. 
Meanwhile  they  are  fighting  all  over  the  house.  We  hear 
cries  of  distress  from  all  the  rooms.  The  floors  tremble  under 


200  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  weight  of  hurrying  steps,  and  doors  creak  and  burst  open 
under  the  blows  of  the  muskets.  The  besieged  wander  here 
and  there  in  despair,  hide  in  the  fire-places,  behind  the  furni- 
ture and  doors ;  the  besiegers  rush  shouting  on  to  them, 
scatter  them,  hunt  them,  discover  them,  drive  them  out,  and 
drag  them  along,  streaking  the  floor  and  stairs  with  blood  ; 
the  conquered  will  not  surrender  ;  the  prisoners  revolt,  break 
away,  throw  themselves  from  the  windows,  and  dash  into  the 
court-yard,  or  get  transfixed  with  bayonets  in  their  backs,  and 
fall  dead  in  the  door-ways  ;  others  try  to  escape  by  the  roofs  ; 
others,  wounded  and  dripping  with  blood,  drag  themselves  out 
of  the  fray.  The  defenders  of  the  flag  are  at  the  end  of  their 
resources.  '  Surrender  ! '  our  men  shout.  '  No  !  no  !  '  they 
reply  in  a  stifled  voice.  '  Death  first ! '  Suddenly  a  loud 
shout  is  heard  which  resounds  through  the  house,  and  at  the 
same  moment  a  man  dashes  out  of  the  crowd  with  the  enemy's 
flag  in  his  hand,  his  forehead  aloft  and  shining,  but  lacerated 
and  bleeding.  '  Hurrah  ! '  shout  a  hundred  voices  through- 
out the  house.  A  blast  of  the  trumpet  is  heard.  '  What  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  Retreat  ?  How  is  that  ?  Why  ?  It  is 
impossible  !  Silence  ! '  Another  blast  of  the  trumpet,  and  a 
thundering  shout  from  the  major  :  '  Retreat ! '  '  Retreat  ? 
we  ?  now  ?  why  ?  It  is  a  mistake  !  It  is  impossible  ! '  We  are 
out  of  the  house,  the  major  points  out  the  direction  of  the 
road,  the  other  battalions  are  already  in  motion.  Heavenly 
Father  !  we  retreat !  '  Captain,  captain,  in  heaven's  name 
why  are  we  retreating  ? '  The  captain,  without  saying  a  word, 
turns  toward  the  enemy  and  stretches  out  his  arm  in  the 
direction  of  the  plain  to  point  out  something.  '  Look  .  .  .' 
There  was  an  interminable  column  of  the  enemy  advancing  at 
our  back,  and  losing  itself  in  the  green  of  the  country. 


THAT  DAY.  2OI 

"  '  But  captain  !  captain  !  and  the  other  corps  and  divisions, 
where  are  they  ?  what  are  they  doing  ?  why  do  they  not 
come*  ? ' 

"  '  Humph  !  '  he  replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  '  Have  we  lost  them  ? '  I  shouted  in  a  tone  of  despair. 
'  So  it  seems  ! ' 

'  I  looked  around  at  my  soldiers,  I  looked  again  at  the 
Austrian  column,  then  at  Villafranca,  at  that  superb  Lom- 
bardian  plain,  the  beautiful  sky,  and  the  beautiful  mountains. 
'  Oh,  my  poor  country  ! '  I  exclaimed,  letting  my  sword  fall 
to  the  ground, — and  I  wept  like  a  child." 

The  young  lady  bowed  her  head  on  her  hand  and  thought. 


THE  SENTINEL. 


IT  was  one  of  the  last  nights  of  January  ;  it  was  snowing, 
and  the  streets  of  the  city,  the  squares,  the  sills  and  balconies 
of  the  houses,  and  the  trees  were  all  white,  buried,  overloaded 
with  snow  ;  the  flakes  fell  slowly,  large,  and  thick,  and  on  a 
snowy  stratum  along  the  walls  a  track  was  hardly  made  before 
every  trace  of  it  disappeared.  The  lamps  at  the  corners  of 
the  streets  gave  out  a  veiled,  sad  light ;  at  the  crossings,  no 
matter  in  which  direction  you  looked,  not  a  soul  was  to  be 
seen  ;  on  every  side  there  reigned  a  dead  silence,  so  that  you 
could  almost  hear  the  snow  fall. 

It  was  one  of  those  nights  in  which  any  one  who  is  so  unfort- 
unate as  to  be  out  hurries  home,  keeping  close  to  the  walls,  in 
rapid,  silent  steps,  like  a  stealthy  phantom,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground  to  escape  the  puddles,  the  brim  of  his  hat  over  his  ears 
and  nose,  his  neck  down  and  the  coat-collar  turned  up  at  the 
back,  one  hand  stuck  into  the  other  sleeve,  all  huddled  up  ; 
dashes  head  down  into  the  door-way,  climbs  the  stairs,  stamp- 
ing his  wet  feet  and  shaking  the  snow-covered  garments,  pushes 
the  key  into  the  keyhole,  enters,  off  with  the  coat,  down  with 
the  hat — what  a  state  to  be  in  !  pushes  the  first  chair  in  front 
of  the  fire,  drops  down  on  to  it,  one  foot  here,  the  other  foot 
there,  drops  his  head  over  the  fire,  and  stays  there  poking  and 
enjoying  it,  puffing  a  cigar  slowly,  making  hieroglyphics  in  the 


THE    SENTINEL.  203 

ashes  with  the  tongs,  muttering  from  time  to  time  :  "  What 
weather  !  "  One  of  those  nights  in  which  even  the  bored, 
disenamored  husband  draws  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to  his 
wife  ;  the  bachelor  dreams  of  the  quiet  joys  of  a  family,  and, 
renouncing  his  usual  dissipations,  dashes  under  the  counter- 
pane betimes,  twists  about  until  he  has  made  a  warm  nest  for 
himself,  puts  out  one  hand  far  enough  to  hold  his  novel,  and 
having  read  two  or  three  pages,  falls  peacefully  to  sleep,  whet- 
ting his  own  enjoyment  of  the  heat  and  rest  with  the  picture 
of  the  poor  benumbed  people  who  have  neither  home  nor  bed. 
One  of  those  nights  in  which  the  life  of  the  city  is  restricted  to 
the  domestic  hearth,  where  the  usual  conversation  between  the 
family  and  most  intimate  friends  extends  beyond  the  customary 
hour,  until  the  children,  overcome  with  sleep,  tug  secretly  at 
the  mamma's  skirt  to  remind  her  of  the  little  bed  awaiting 
them,  and  go  to  sleep  enjoying  in  anticipation  the  battle  with 
snow-balls  that  they  shall  fight  in  the  morning.  One  of  those 
nights  in  which  the  most  ardent  desires  are  three  in  number,  as 
the  bon  vivant  would  say  :  a  dear  face,  a  charming  book,  and  a 
good  glass  of  something. 

All,  even  the  poor,  seek  in  such  nights  the  cover  of  a  roof,  a 
little  fire,  and  a  little  straw  ;  all  find  a  shelter  from  the  snow 
until  the  first  rays  of  dawn,  at  least  for  those  hours  in  which  it 
comes  down  so  thickly  that  it  seems  desirous  of  burying  the 
houses  ;  all  rest,  sleep,  all  but  the  sentinel — for  whom  there  is 
neither  fire,  roof,  nor  rest ;  but  only  a  little  wooden  box,  a 
heavy  cloak  of  coarse  cloth,  and  the  corporal's  countersign. 

Look  down  there  at  the  end  of  the  square,  all  white  with  snow, 
and  lighted  all  around  by  four  long  rows  of  lamps,  near  the 
great  door  of  that  black  palace,  so  colossal  and  old  in  form, 


204  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

with  its  huge  illuminated  windows  ;  look  there  at  that  sentinel's 
box,  that  muffled  man,  erect  and  motionless  like  a  marble 
statue.  He  has  been  there  for  hours,  without  moving,  without 
uttering  a  word,  with  his  right  hand  quite  benumbed  on  the 
barrel  of  his  musket,  his  feet  in  the  snow,  his  eyes  cast  down 
and  fixed,  so  that  they  seem  to  be  counting  the  large  flakes 
which  fall  around  him.  From  time  to  time  his  eyes  half  close, 
his  head  drops  slowly  on  his  shoulder ;  but  instantly  an  inner 
voice  warns  him,  and  he  raises  his  head  quickly,  opens  and  di- 
lates his  eyes,  glances  around  rapidly  and  vigilantly,  as  if  to 
compensate  his  conscience  for  that  moment  of  languor  and  in- 
ertia. Look  at  him  ;  even  the  poorest  have  a  bit  of  house,  fire, 
and  bed  ;  but  he  has  none. 

These  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind  one  night  at  the 
end  of  January,  when  I  was  on  guard  with  about  forty  sol- 
diers on  that  square  and  in  front  of  that  palace.  And  I  walked, 
thinking  thus,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  door,  measuring 
with  slow  step  a  small  portion  of  the  square  that  was  free  from 
snow,  and  turning  my  eyes  now  and  then  up  toward  the  lighted 
windows,  from  which  there  came  to  my  ears  a  confused  har- 
mony of  flutes  and  violins,  and  a  dull,  heavy  sound  of  feet, 
moving  in  cadence  tread  over  an  immense  floor.  Then  I 
looked  into  the  immense  vestibule,  at  the  lamps  gleaming  with 
crystal,  the  carpets  and  vases  of  flowers  scattered  over  the 
marble  floor,  and  the  walls  covered  with  tapestries  and  laurels. 
Toward  the  front,  between  me  and  the  door,  was  a  coming  and 
going  of  grand  carriages,  a  shouting  of  coachmen,  a  continuous 
mounting  and  descending  of  men  and  women,  a  hastening  to 
the  carriage  doors,  a  reverential  opening  of  these,  a  respect- 
ful presentation  of  the  hand,  a  long  sweeping  of  dresses,  an  un- 


THE   SENTINEL.  2O$ 

covering  of  bedecked  heads,  a  curving  of  spines,  and  an  appear- 
ance and  disappearance  of  servants  in  gleaming  gala  livery. 
Here  a  carnage  with  a  coat  of  arms  approaches,  stops  ;  the 
footman  gets  hastily  down  ;  all  gather  around  ;  ten  hands  vie 
with  each  other  to  reach  the  door-handle  ;  one  fortunate  hand 
seizes  it ;  the  door  opens  ;  the  crowd  divides  into  two  wings,  on 
the  right  and  left ;  necks  are  outstretched,  and  eyes  fixed  ;  a 
head  appears,  a  foot,  then  a  little  hand  in  a  light  glove  ;  and 
another  hand  stretches  out  from  the  midst  of  the  crowd, 
touches  timidly  its  finger  tips,  down  goes  the  small  foot,  slowly, 
carefully, — a  little  farther,  a  trifle  farther  still,  and  the  small 
foot  is  on  the  ground.  Oh,  how  pretty  !  How  unfortunate  it 
would  have  been  if  it  had  touched  a  flake  of  snow  !  But  it 
kept  inside  the  train  of  the  dress. — What  a  pity  !  It  must  have 
caught  on  a  nail !  Quick — they  run  in  twos,  threes,  and  fours  ; 
Where  is  it  caught  ?  Here  ! — no — there — gently — carefully — 
delicately — look,  look — ah  !  it  is  here.  The  train  is  free,  on 
the  ground,  and  she  is  on  her  feet.  What  a  superb  figure  ! 
Make  way  ;  stand  back  and  look  at  her.  An  indiscreet  hood 
only  shows  the  curious  eye  a  wee  bit  of  that  charming  face ; 
it  is  the  face  of  an  angel  !  A  jealous  gown  hides  from  the 
hungry  glances  the  beautiful  hips  and  white  shoulders,  but 
lets  one  imagine,  under  j.ts  folds,  the  form  which  is  divine  ! 
The  beautiful  figure  advances  gracefully,  turns,  places  her 
foot  on  the  staircase, — one  more  bit  of  the  dress,  and  then  she 
has  disappeared.  What  a  pity  !  But  follow  her  with  the  mind's 
eye  into  the  midst  of  the  intoxicated  throng  of  those  noisy 
rooms  ;  among  all  the  other  beautiful  heads  bedecked  with 
gems  and  camelias,  distinguish  her  tresses  and  flowers,  and  fol- 
low them  in  the  mazes  of  the  dance,  amid  the  conflict  of  ardent 


2O6  MILITARY  LIFE. 

glances  which  provoke,  search,  flee  away  amiably  astute,  meet 
amiably  audacious,  and  betwixt  the  fascination  of  the  soft 
abandonment  and  pleasure  of  the  dance,  they  languish,  flush, 
beseech,  refuse,  promise,  punish,  grant,  and  carry  one  off  to 
Heaven. 

And  he  is  there,  I  thought,  poor  soldier  !  He  is  there,  ex- 
posed to  the  cold,  to  the  snow,  alone,  silent,  sad,  without  com- 
fort, and  without  hope.  Up  there  they  are  playing,  dancing, 
laughing,  frolicking,  enjoying  life's  wildest  and  most  charming 
intoxications  ;  and  he,  from  that  darkness  and  that  solitude,  is 
obliged  to  hear  the  gaiety  going  on  above  his  head,  and  com- 
pare it  with  the  sad  abandonment,  and  the  weary  melancholy 
of  his  poor  heart.  He  is  obliged  to  submit  to  the  imageries  of 
those  dear  faces,  beautiful  persons,  and  glances  ;  he,  who  is 
alone,  far  away  from  his  own,  who  has  no  woman's  face  smiling 
on  him,  no  little  hand  to  press  ;  but  who,  perchance,  to  his 
greater  sorrow,  will  always  have  fixed  in  his  memory  a  black 
braid  and  two  modest  eyes  that  once  made  his  soul  tremble 
with  love  !  Ah  !  in  the  midst  of  those  hyacinths  and  flower- 
decked  heads  he  dreams  of  her,  and  sees  those  dear  tresses, 
without  gems,  and  without  flowers  ! — "  Corporal !  " 

"  Present ! " 

"  Who 's  the  soldier  in  the  sentinel-,box  ? " 

"  Such  and  such  a  one." 

"You  may  go." — My  heart  told  me  that  it  was  a  conscript. 
Poor  conscript !  He  has  only  been  in  the  regiment  for  a  few 
days,  and  is  still  bewildered  by  this  new  life  ;  his  head  and  his 
heart  are  still  at  home  with  his  mother,  among  the  quiet  habits 

• 

of  his'former  life  ;  the  thought  of  return  does  not  even  pass 
through  his  head,  or,  if  it  does,  it  is  only  a  thought  of  a  very 


THE   SENTINEL.  2O/ 

distant  pleasure  !  He  has'  no  friends  in  the  regiment  as  yet  ; 
he  is  still  suffering  from  the  jokes  of  the  older  soldiers,  and  the 
first  hardships,  which  are  the  most  painful,  of  the  discipline  ; 
not  a  friendly  voice,  not  an  affectionate  word,  not  a  smile, 
nothing  but  harsh  threatening  voices  and  disagreeable  faces. 
After  another  hour  passed  there,  he  will  come  here,  weary  and 
wet,  overcome  with  cold  and  sleep,  and  will  have  a  wretched, 
bare  table  on  which  to  rest,  and  will  fall  into  that  interrupted, 
painful  slumber,  being  waked  by  a  jogging  of  his  legs  or  a 
handful  of  snow  in  his  face.  He  has  not  even  a  little  fire  by 
which  to  dry  his  clothes,  not  a  drop  of  wine,  not  even  a  bit  of 
tobacco, — and  probably  not  even  a  centime  with  which  to 
buy  some.  I  could  swear  that  he  is  suffering  at  this  moment. 
The  music  and  the  gaiety  sadden  him.  I  will  go  and  assure 
myself  of  the  fact.  I  will  go  and  see  him.  But  no — why  not  ? 
Yes,  indeed,  I  will  go  and  see  him.  Whv  should  I  not  go  ? 
Oh,  we  will  see  !  I  will  go. 

And  I  started.  I  passed  in  front  of  the  box,  looked  in  ;  it 
was  dark,  and  I  could  not  see  his  face.  I  turned  back,  hesi- 
tated for  an  instant,  and  thought :  When  one  is  stirred  by  a 
very  powerful  emotion,  be  it  sorrow  or  joy,  the  sound  of  the 
first  word  uttered  after  a  long  silence  must  at  that  moment 
rouse  and  reveal  that  sentiment  in  question.  Let  us  try.  I 
approached  the  box,  and  stopped  in  front  of  it.  The  sentinel 
noticed  me,  and  came  to  the  opening.  I  did  not  see  his  face, 
nor  he  mine.  I  asked,  in  an  affectedly  indifferent  tone  :  "  Are 
you  cold  ? " 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  replied  :  "  No,  sir  !  " 
That   was   enough.      There   was   a    slight    tremor    in    the 
voice  ;  no  doubt  of  it ;  my  supposition  had  been  quite  correct, 
and  I  had  divined  the  state  of  his  heart. 


2O8  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Are  you  really  not  cold  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  !  A  little — you  know — but  not  so  much  so  that — 
rather — " 

Poor  fellow,  he  was  freezing  !  He  was  afraid  of  appearing 
lacking  in  discipline  should  he  tell  me  he  was  cold.  Just  as  if 
he  or  I  had  made  the  snow  fall  right  at  his  feet,  which  must 
have  been  in  a  sad  state.  I  was  so  pleased  with  his  reply,  poor 
fellow  !  So,  do  not  talk  to  me  of  the  distance  between  officers 
and  soldiers  at  such  moments  ;  for  the  heart  is  not  covered 
with  gilt  braid  like  the  cap.  Great  heavens  !  how  can  one  be 
so  hard  and  reserved  unless  he  be  made  of  stone  ?  However, 
as  I  did  not  wish  it  to  seem  as  if  I  had  gone  there  to  play  the 
pitying  consoler,  or  leave  him  either  before  I  had  cheered  him 
a  trifle  with  a  few  friendly  words,  I  said,  in  an  indifferent  man- 
ner : 

"  How  much  longer  have  you  to  stay  here  ? " 

"  I  really  don't  know,  Mr.  Lieutenant.  .  .  .  You  cannot 
hear  the  clock  near  here  ...  on  account  of  the  music." 

"  Yes  ;  well  (at  this  point  the  ice  was  broken),  certainly  to 
stand  still  here,  at  this  hour  and  in  such  weather,  is  not  a  pleas- 
ure. But,  good  heavens  !  it  is  our  profession.  .  .  .  It  is 
all  like  this,  and  we  must  take  things  as  they  are.  But,  my 
good  fellow,  this  is  nothing.  If  we  go  to  war,  then  you  will  see 
something  worse.  That  is  quite  another  affair,  you  know,  as 
you  will  see  when  you  try  it.  When  you  are  on  the  outposts, 
for  instance,  in  a  dark  wood,  under  one  of  those  fine  drizzling 
rains  that  go  through  every  thing  and  make  you  thoroughly  un- 
comfortable, quite  alone,  abandoned,  and  not  seeing  a  palm 
before  your  nose,  but  there  you  must  stay,  firm  and  erect  as  a 
reed,  with  a  vigilant  eye  and  strained  ear,  because  the  enemy  is 


THE   SENTINEL.  2OQ 

in  front  of  you,  and  from  one  moment  to  the  other  may  fall 
upon  you.  Then,  after  a  night  passed  there,  you  return  to  the 
regiment,  and  there  is  nothing  to  satisfy  your  hunger,  no  place 
to  sleep,  and  you  are  obliged  to  stretch  yourself  out  in  the 
mud,  on  stones,  or  on  the  damp  grass — then  you  know  what  a 
hard  life  is  !  This  is  nothing.  Yet  brave  soldiers  lead  that 
life  so  full  of  perils  and  deprivations  courageously,  and  never 
grumble  ;  when  they  can  sleep,  well  ;  when  they  cannot,  pa- 
tience ;  when  there  is  bread,  hurrah  for  the  bread  !  when  there 
is  none,  one  can  fast,  a  la  bonheur,  and  does  not  get  out  of 
temper  for  such  a  trifle.  Do  you  know  why  ?  Because  they 
are  living  among  friends  and  know  how  to  do  their  duty,  to  be 
a  soldier  who  will  defend  the  country  where  he  was  born  and 
brought  up,  where  he  -has  his  family,  home,  friends,  and  .  .  . 
sweetheart  ;  all  that  is  dearest  and  most  sacred  to  us  in  this 
world  ;  do  you  understand  ?  And  the  consciousness  of  having 
done  his  duty  is  all  that  the  good  soldier  needs.  See  how 
many  poor  unfortunates  the  soldiers  have  dragged  out  of  the 
river  down  there  during  the  summer  bathing  season  !  Well, 
what  have  those  soldiers  who  have  risked  their  lives  to  save  those 
of  people  whom  they  did  not  know  gained  ?  Nothing  ;  that  is, 
much — the  gratitude  of  the  saved,  and  the  consciousness  of  their 
courageous  deed,  and  this  is  enough  for  a  brave  man.  Then 
the  soldiers  who  go  to  fight  the  brigands  ?  Every  day  one  dies  ; 
who  knows  that  he  is  dead  ;  who  will  remember  his  name  be- 
yond the  members  of  his  family  ?  Yet  the  soldiers  are  willing 
to  stop  up  on  the  mountains,  in  the  woods  and  ravines,  and 
to  lead  that  cursed  sort  of  existence,  and  why  ?  Because  they 
know  that  they  are  doing  their  duty.  And  the  carabineers,  poor 
soldiers  too,  who  wander  about  the  country  at  night,  two  by 


2 1 0  MI  LI  TARY  LIFE. 

two,  among  the  malefactors  hidden  in  ditches,  who  treacher- 
ously shoot  at  them  from  their  hiding-places,  they  too  lead  a 
hard  life.  Yet  see  how  gladly  they  do  their  duty  !  It  is  the 
same  thing  with  the  sentinel.  At  night,  such  nights  as  these, 
who  sees  the  sentinels  enveloped  in  their  cloaks,  curled  up 
at  the  back  of  their  boxes,  motionless  and  silent  ;  who  hears 
them,  knows  who  they  are,  or  thinks  of  them  ?  No  one.  Yet 
the  sentinel  must  remain  at  his  post,  without  any  melancholy 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  and  think  :  Every  one  is  sleeping  ;  but  I 
watch  over  the  sleep  of  all ;  if  there  were  no  sentinels,  no  one 
would  be  able  to  sleep  from  fear.  My  little  box  protects  the 
largest  palaces  ;  everywhere  people  are  singing,  playing,  and 
enjoying  themselves,  and  they  can  do  so  without  thought  or 
suspicion,  because  I  am  silent,  vigilant,  and  listening  for  them 
all ;  my  rough  cloak  protects  the  silken  and  velvet  robes  of  the 
ladies  who  go  to  balls  ;  this  shadow  protects  that  light,  my 
silence  those  sounds.  The  soldier  must  draw  comfort  from 
the  feeling  of  this  truth,  of  which  one  is  not  accustomed  to 
think,  or  of  which  many  have  never  thought,  but  which 
ought  really  to  be  kept  alive  in  his  mind  and  heart,  and 
he  ought  to  comprehend  that  in  this  feeling  lies  the  most  beau- 
tiful reward  for  his  sacrifices  and  his  virtues.  Are  you  con- 
vinced of  it  ?" 
.  "  Oh,  yes,  lieutenant." 

His  voice  had  trembled,  had  come  from  his  heart,  had  found 
some  impediment  half  way  in  his  throat,  I  perceived  ;  I  went 
on  : 

"  And  after  he  has  sacrificed  for  five  years,  five  long  years, 
at  all  hours  and  moments,  his  own  will,  desires,  affections, 
habits,  thoughts,  every  thing  in  fact  ;  has  sacrificed  every  thing 


THE   SENTINEL.  211 

to  his  duty,  his  flag — to  those  three  beautiful  colors  which  we 
ought  to  hold  dearer  than  ourselves,  our  life,  than  every  thing 
in  the  world  ;  when  after  five  years  passed  thus,  the  country 
says  to  him  :  This  is  enough,  you  have  done  your  duty,  give 
me  back  the  musket  with  which  you  have  defended  my  honor 
and  my  life,  and  return  to  your  home,  for  your  mother  is  ex- 
pecting you,  and  your  sisters  wish  to  see  you,  and  there  is  an- 
other woman,  who,  standing  by  the  window  at  evening,  looks  far 
away  along  the  road  by  which  you  are  to  return,  then,  believe 
me,  my  good  fellow,  the  being  able  to  return  to  your  old  mother's 
arms,  with  the  consciousness  of  having  been  a  good  soldier, — the 
being  able  to  return  under  that  poor  roof  with  a  high  head  and 
your  hands  hardened  from  constant  handling  of  the  musket  is, 
believe  me,  a  joy  that  has  no  equal  on  the  earth — Do  you  be- 
lieve it  ? " 

".     .     .     .     Mr.  Lieutenant !...." 

"  And  when  you  have  returned  home,  at  evening,  and  the 
beautiful  moon  is  shining,  you  begin  to  dance  in  the  meadow, 
as  in  old  times,  and  that  is  the  kind  of  ball  which  is  the  most 
enjoyable,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

He  made  no  reply. 

"  Am  I  right  or  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  "  broke  out  the  poor  soldier,  in  a  voice  whose 
tone  was  indescribable,  but  which  still  resounds  in  my  ear,  as 
if  I  had  just  heard  it.  "  Oh,  yes,  you  are  right,  Mr.  Lieutenant, 
yes,  cer —  .  .  ." 

Do  you  know  why  he  stopped  ?  Because,  affected  and 
agitated  as  he  was,  moved  solely  by  affection,  by  gratitude  for 
my  brotherly  words,  the  good  fellow  forgot  for  an  instant  that 
I  was  an  officer  and  he  a  poor  conscript,  and  had  stretched 


2 1 2  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

out  his  arm  toward  me,  but  recollecting  himself,  had  instantly 
withdrawn  it,  not,  however,  in  time  to  prevent  his  hand  from 
grazing  my  cloak  slightly. 

"  Ah  !     .    .    ."  I  exclaimed. 

He  was  ashamed  of  himself,  and  quite  embarrassed,  and, 
murmuring  timidly  some  words  of  excuse,  dashed  back  into 
his  box.  He  seemed  to  be  breathing  with  great  difficulty. 
Perhaps  he  was  weeping. 

I  moved  off  with  my  heart  profoundly  touched.  I  felt  so 
thoroughly  contented  with  myself  !  I  looked  up  at  the  lighted 
windows,  went  back  to  listen  to  the  music,  to  which  I  had 
paid  no  attention  for  some  time,  returned  in  spirit  to  the  ball- 
room. Pooh,  they  were  all  faded  imageries. 

Poor  enjoyment  this,  I  thought,  in  comparison  with  mine. 


THE    CAMP. 

THERE  is  a  beautiful,  great,  level,  rectangular  meadow,  shut  in 
on  the  four  sides  by  a  ditch  and  a  hedge,  well  covered  with  grass, 
and  studded  with  daisies.  Beyond  the  ditch,  on  one  side,  a 
thick  clump  of  mulberries,  oaks,  thorn  trees,  and  further  on, 
projecting  above  that  mass,  a  gently  sloping  hill,  green  and  low, 
scattered  with  trees  and  small  white  houses.  Half  way  up  the 
slope,  a  group  of  higher  and  more  city-like-looking  houses,  and 
a  high,  light  bell-tower  ;  round  about  some  bluish  and  reddish 
palaces,  flowery  hillocks,  long  rows  of  pines,  groups  of  willows, 
sandy,  winding  avenues  ;  and  here  and  there  white  statuettes 
and  sprays  of  water,  hidden  by  the  trees  and  bushes.  In  front 
of  that  field,  along  the  side  opposite  the  grove,  runs  a  broad, 
raised  road,  which  winds  around  the  thickly  planted  trees,  and 
climbs  the  hillside  to  the  village.  A  regiment  has  pitched  its 
tents  in  the  meadow. 

Let  us  place  ourselves  on  the  road  and  look  at  the  camp. 
Beginning  at  twenty  paces  from  the  ditch,  to  the  opposite 
boundary  line  of  the  field,  there  are  eight  long  rows  of  tents, 
in  parallel  lines,  divided  by  a  space  of  about  ten  paces.  In 
every  row  there  are  one  hundred  tents  ;  three  soldiers  to  each 
tent ;  three  hundred  soldiers  in  one  row  ;  two  thousand  four 
hundred,  or  little  less,  in  all ;  in  fact,  an  entire  regiment.  The 
tents  are  neat  and  well  stretched ;  the  cords  fastened  to  the 

213 


214  MILITARY  LIFE. 

ground  in  straight  lines,  at  equal  intervals ;  every  thing  in 
perfect  order ;  it  is  a  camp  which  looks  as  if  painted.  Opposite 
the  openings  of  the  tents,  at  the  back  and  on  the  sides,  rise  the 
huts  and  sheds  of  green  boughs  (they  have  despoiled  the  trees 
in  the  poor  fields  in  the  neighborhood,  so  that  the  colonel  got 
,into  a  perfect  rage),  and  from  the  branches  (like  triumphal 
arches)  wave  garlands  of  wild  poppies  and  wheat  interlined. 
Here  and  there,  on  the  top  of  a  cane  stuck  into  the  ground, 
float  several  flags,  made  of  a  red  cravat,  a  bit  of  shirt,  and  a 
blue  handkerchief,  which  looks  like  green.  In  the  tents,  is  a 
confusion  of  straw,  clothes,  knapsacks,  rags,  cartridge-boxes, 
gun-stocks,  and  bayonets.  Between  the  tents  are  stretched 
ropes,  on  which  are  displayed  those  half  drawers,  which  are 
supposed  by  the  government  to  reach  the  ankle,  but  which  in 
reality  only  come  down  to  the  knees  on  the  legs  of  the  soldiers, 
as  nature  made  them. 

To  the  right  of  all  these  tents,  in  a  parallel  line  with  the 
shortest  side  of  the  camp,  there  is  another  row  of  tents,  conical 
in  shape  and  higher,  larger,  better  stretched,  and  more  comfort- 
ably arranged  than  the  others  ;  the  tents  of  the  officers  ;  from 
that  of  the  colonel,  which  is  the  nearest  to  the  road,  down  to 
that  of  the  officers  of  the  last  company.  Farther  to  the  right,  in 
a  parallel  line  with  the  tents  of  the  officers,  along  the  dividing 
ditch,  is  a  long  row  of  wagons  overladen  with  boxes,  trunks, 
bundles,  and  a  hundred  various  articles.  Behind  the  last 
wagon,  a  troop  of  horses  and  mules  tied  to  the  trunk  of  the 
trees.  Along  the  opposite  side — the  left  side — an  unending 
row  of  black  kettles,  placed  in  groups  at  regular  distances,  and 
between  each  group,  ovens  made  of  heaped-up  stones  and 
bricks,  and  piles  of  ashes  and  burnt  sticks,  brushwood,  and 


THE   CAMP.  215 

scattered  straw.  Beyond  the  ditch,  small  trees  on  the  ground 
split  and  broken  up,  thinned  out  hedges,  furrows  trampled 
down  and  ruined  ;  all  the  signs  of  a  great  sacking. — Oh,  poor 
colonel,  how  furious  he  was  ! 

A  little  wooden  bridge,  just  made  with  two  trunks  of  trees 
and  a  few  boards,  unites  the  camp  with  the  road.  Beside  the 
bridge,  in  the  camp,  along  the  edge  of  the  ditch,  there  are  ten 
or  twelve  isolated  tents  in  which  the  prisoners  in  irons  are 
confined.  On  the  bridge  is  a  sentinel,  another  in  front  of 
those  tents,  and  others  around  the  camp  at  the  different  points 
of  exit. 

Such  is  the  camp. 

The  sun  was  setting ;  it  was  a  beautiful  evening  in  July. 
The  sky  was  wonderfully  clear,  the  country  still  fresh  and 
damp  from  a  recent  rain  ;  and  that  dark  grove,  the  beautiful 
green  hill,  the  villas,  and  the  little  hamlet  still  gilded  by  a  ray 
of  the  sinking  sun,  made  the  scene  a  fascinating  one. 

It  was  an  hour  of  rest  and  recreation  for  the  regiment.  All 
were  in  motion.  Most  of  them,  in  their  shirt  sleeves  and  linen 
trowsers,  wandered  among  the  tents,  alone,  in  couples,  or  in 
bands  ;  some  were  seated  or  stretched  out  in  groups,  or  chasing 
each  other,  like  boys  in  the  court-yard  of  a  school ;  others 
were  playing  a  game  with  stones  ;  others  fenced  with  sticks  in 
the  midst  of  a  circle  of  spectators  ;  others,  still,  having  stretched 
a  bit  of  cord  between  two  tents,  jumped  on  a  wager  between, 
two  rows  of  admirers  ;  some,  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  ditch, 
around  a  rag  of  table-cloth,  devoured  a  few  leaves  of  lettuce  in 
a  friendly  way,  nibbling  at  a  little  white  bread  (the  kind  the 
officers  eat) ;  some  were  seated  cross-legged  over  the  cart- 
poles  smoking  peacefully  ;  some,  dressed  in  linen  waistcoats 


2l6  MILITARY  LIFE. 

falling  to  bits,  of  which  only  the  white  of  the  past  remained, 
were  back  among  the  ovens  and  kettles,  breaking  upon  their 
knees  the  piles  of  branches,  brushwood,  etc.,  for  the  kitchen  ; 
and  on  every  side  rose  shouts  and  cries,  songs,  and  continuous 
and  diffused  sounds. 

How  many  beautiful  pictures  for  an  artist ! 

There,  at  the  end  of  the  camp,  in  the  middle  of  the  opposite 
side  from  the  road,  the  sutler  has  placed  his  three  wagons  in  the 
form  of  three  sides  of  a  trapezium,  the  opening  toward  the  camp ; 
he  has  stretched  a  pieced  but  torn  tent  between  two  side  wagons  ; 
has  set  up  two  or  three  tables,  and  three  black  and  rickety 
benches  ;  has  placed  a  wardrobe  door  over  the  two  tallest  casks 
and  made  a  counter  of  it ;  put  the  biggest  cask  behind  it  and 
lodged  his  wife  there  ;  has  stretched  between  two  wheel-spokes 
a  well-greased  cord,  and  suspended  therefrom  some  long,  black, 
crusty  things,  which  are  supposed  to  be  eatable  sausages, 
and  which  can  be  enjoyed  without  danger  of  death  ;  then,  in 
order  to  excite  the  soldiers'  appetite,  he  has  exposed  to  view  a 
couple  of  baskets  of  fresh  vegetables,  a  great  plate  of  plucked 
and  rather  gamy  fowls,  a  huge  piece  of  raw  meat,  a  row  of 
bottles  and  badly  washed  glasses,  cigars  pregnant  with  oil,  and 
sheets  of  letter-paper  perfumed  by  anchovies  ;  then  has  shouted  : 
"  Come  on,  boys  !  Here  you  can  eat  till  you  burst !  "  Which, 
by  the  way,  is  a  highly  probable  statement.  The  benches  are 
all  full  ;  the  tables  covered  with  bottles  ;  the  men  are  playing 
at  mora,  singing,  shouting,  disputing,  and  making  a  racket ; 
the  glasses  jingle  from  time  to  time,  and  strike  each  other, 
and  the  sutler  turns  around.  What  are  they  doing  over 
there  ?  An  officer  appears,  there  is  a  profound  silence  ;  he  dis- 
appears, and  the  revelry  begins  again.  Meanwhile,  in  the  open 


THE   CAMP.  217 

passage  between  the  tables  there  is  a  crowd  forming,  composed 
of  two  lines  moving  in  opposite  directions,  some  who  are  com- 
ing to-  fill  their  trenchers  with  wine,  and  others  who,  having 
theirs  full,  shout  :  "  Make  way  there,"  swearing  at  and  cursing 
the  unfortunate  man  who  does  not  give  way  and  thus  makes 
them  spill  a  few  drops.  Around  the  vivandiere  a  circle  of 
young  corporals  has  formed  ;  that  of  the  third  company,  among 
the  others,  who  is  so  graceful  and  so  impudent ;  the  husband 
knows  it,  and  cannot  refrain  from  casting  certain  sharp  glances 
in  that  direction  which  are  like  so  many  arrows  ;  and  the  wife 
does  not  neglect  to  make  eyes  at  her  favorites  ;  the  husband 
would  like  to  protest,  but  the  affairs  of  the  shop  are  flourishing, 
and  much  of  this  is  due  to  the  wheedling  of  madame.  "  Let 
us  close  our  eyes,"  he  thinks,  "  until  we  have  taken  in  the 
money."  A  soldier  approaches  the  counter.  "  What  do  you 
wish?"  "A  little  glass  of  rum."  "Here  it  is;  pay  for  it." 
"Take  this";  and  he  presents  a  bill.  "I  cannot  change 
it;  I  have  no  small  money."  "  Then  what  shall  I  do  ?  Ah, 
that  is  delightful !  try."  And  the  poor  soldier  stands  there, 
puzzled  and  confused,  fingering  the  bill  and  glancing  at  the 
little  glass  with  an  angry  expression  of  face.  Then  moves 
slowly  off,  murmuring :  "  They  pay  us  in  paper,  and  to  say 
that  there  is  no  specie  !  But  all  those  who  go  on  horseback  put 
it  in  their  pockets." 

Fifty  paces  nearer  there  is  another  picture.  It  is  a  captain 
who  has  collected  about  fifty  soldiers  of  his  company, — as 
many  as  he  could  pick  up  round  about, — has  placed  them  in  a 
circle,  and,  after  telling  them  that  they  will  have  a  great  deal 
of  marching  to  do  the  following  day,  and  that  the  first  one  who 
gives  out  will  be  put  immediately  in  irons,  has  a  small  cask  of 


218  MILITARY  LIFE. 

wine  brought  into  their  midst,  and  glancing  at  one  of  the 
quickest  soldiers,  says  :  "  It 's  your  turn ;  take  out  the 
bung  and  distribute  it."  They  all  gather  around,  holding 
out  trenchers,  canteens,  and  glasses.  "  Wait  a  moment,  for 
heaven's  sake  !  Get  out  of  the  way  there,  or  I  won't  give 
any  one  another  drop  !  "  They  all  stand  back.  And  while 
the  soldier  endeavors  to  open  the  cask  with  his  nails  and 
the  point  of  his  bayonet,  and  the  captain  stands  bending 
over  it,  his  hand  on  his  knees,  directing  the  operation ; 
all  the  others,  gathered  together  on  one  side,  smother  their 
laughs  of  delight,  twist  their  hands  around  their  knees,  and, 
bending  their  backs,  they  make  mute  signs  to  one  another,  ex- 
change certain  droll  gestures,  hit  each  other's  elbows,  nodding 
with  their  head  and  a  half-closed  eye  at  the  unusual  treat ; 
they  pass  the  back  of  the  hand  over  the  mouth,  as  if  to  pre- 
pare it  for  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  treat,  without  leaving  any 
other  profane  taste  on  the  lips  ;  they  exchange  furtive  pinches, 
and  they  rub  their  shoulders  against  each  other.  Suddenly,  the 
captain  turns.  All  are  erect  and  motionless,  so  not  to  appear 
quite  crazed  at  the  idea  of  a  few  drops  of  wine.  The  captain 
makes  a  sign  for  them  to  approach  ;  they  crowd  forward  ;  the 
bung  is  out,  a  great  purple  stream  comes  bubbling  forth  ;  ten 
trenchers  are  held  under  it  to  catch  it,  after  these  ten  others, 
another  ten,  and  so  on.  Down  the  throat  it  goes  in  perfect 
waves.  "  Shall  we  touch  glasses  ?  "  asks  one  voice.  "  Yes," 
reply  twenty  others.  The  trenchers  are  raised  above  the  heads, 
they  move,  turn  and  return,  touch  ;  the  wine  overflows  and 
spreads  over  their  heads,  faces,  and  hands,  staining  waistcoats 
and  doublets,  and  dropping  everywhere.  But  what  does  it  mat- 
ter ?  "  Hurrah  for  pleasure  !  Hurrah  for  the  captain  !  "  exclaims 


THE   CAMP.  219 

one  of  the  boldest  in  an  undertone.  "  Hurrah .'  "  reply  the 
others  in  chorus.  "  Silence,  you  dogs  !  "  shouts  the  captain 
impetuously,  not  succeeding,  however,  in  concealing  under  that 
show  of  anger  a  certain  feeling  of  complacency.  "  Have  you 
lost  your  heads  ?  Disperse  !  "  The  crowd  separate,  running 
in  every  direction.  But  the  other  soldiers,  who  have  sniffed  a 
little  festivity  in  the  distance,  collect,  but  too  late,  however ; 
the  cask  is  empty,  and  the  captain's  pocket-book  is  closed. 
The  new  arrivals  wander  around,  glance  warily  at  each  other, 
do,  as  they  say  of  the  Indians,  turn  their  eyes  upward  to  gaze 
at  the  clouds,  and  kick  the  stones  about  while  yawning  indiffer- 
ently ;  but  all  in  vain  ;  the  captain  does  not  see  them,  moves 
off,  and  every  hope  is  dead.  Well,  this  trifle  suffices  to  make 
men  happy  ;  and  they  return  to  the  place  whence  they  came, 
humming  in  that  strained,  harsh  voice  that  seems  to  stick 
half  way  in  the  throat  when  we  are  provoked  at  something  and 
wish,  but  do  not  succeed,  in  dissimulating  it. 

Now  let  us  look  in  another  direction,  down  there  in  the 
farthest  corner.  Along  that  line  of  wall  runs  a  canal  three 
or  four  metres  in  width,  and  in  it  are  two  palms'  depth  of  water 
between  two  soft  and  slippery  banks.  On  one  of  the  sides  are 
standing  and  sitting  the  soldiers  of  the  company,  whose  tents 
are  near  by.  Suddenly  there  comes  a  voice  from  the  group  of 
officers  standing  on  the  opposite  side  :  "  Who  wants  to  earn  a 
lira  ?  Here  it  is  for  the  man  who  can  jump  this  ditch,"  and  a 
hand  with  a  coin  in  it  is  raised  in  the  circle.  All  turn  and  run 
in  that  direction.  "  I,  I,  I,  I  too."  Then  an  officer  exclaims  : 
"  Let  us  see  ;  stand  in  a  row,"  and  he  makes  a  sign  with  his 
hand.  The  crowd  of  soldiers  turn  their  backs,  run  twenty 
paces  from  the  bank,  stop,  turn  around,  draw  up  in  a  semicir- 


220  MILITARY  LIFE. 

cle,  the  most  courageous  in  the  centre,  the  laziest  at  the  wings  ; 
three  or  four  in  the  middle  dispute  the  best  position  with  their 
elbows  ;  one  finally  conquers,  puts  his  left  foot  well  forward, 
bends  backward,  measures  the  ground  with  his  eye,  rises  on 
tip-toe  to  look  into  the  ditch,  thinks,  hesitates,  turns  to  his 
neighbor  and  says  :  "You  jump  first."  An  "oh  !"  of  shame  rises 
on  all  sides.  The  neighbor  hesitates  also  ;  two  or  three  excuse 
themselves.  "  Make  way,  then,  I  will  jump,"  says  a  new-comer, 
opening  a  path  by  means  of  pushes  and  blows.  They  make 
way  ;  he  comes  forward,  prepares,  sways  backward  and  forward, 
glances  at  the  ditch  and  the  ground,  and  starts.  He  passes  the 
intervening  space,  courage,  bravo  !  and  he  is  over,  resting  on  his 
right  foot,  with  his  left  one  in  the  air  and  his  arms  well  ex- 
tended. The  lira  is  his ;  away  he  runs  for  a  drink.  The 
competition  is  lively ;  another  man  has  taken  the  leap, 
and  another  lira  is  won.  A  third  starts.  Oh,  how  short- 
breathed  he  is  !  He  reaches  the  bank,  takes  the  leap,  and 
down  he  goes  flat  on  to  his  face,  dashing  the  water  over  every 
one.  A  prolonged  shout  breaks  from  every  throat,  and  ends 
by  a  general  laugh  and  clapping  of  hands.  The  poor  fellow 
has  climbed  with  difficulty  on  to  the  bank,  all  wet  and  dripping, 
his  hair  clinging  and  matted  in  bunches  over  his  ears  and  face, 
his  trowsers  clinging  to  his  legs,  and  his  arms  hanging.  But 
the  officers  are  moved  by  pity.  "  A  glass  of  wine  for  this  poor 
devil  !  "  exclaims  one  of  them.  And  the  face  of  the  poor 
devil  instantly  becomes  serene. 

Then  the  circle  of  singers.  One  here,  one  there,  around 
the  tents,  under  the  trees,  five,  ten,  and  twenty  together. 
One  warbles  a  pathetic  ballad  with  the  greatest  effrontery ; 
others,  half  intoxicated,  with  glistening  eyes  and  inane  faces, 


THE   CAMP.  221 

howl  certain  bacchanal  songs,  raising  their  trenchers  in 
both  hands  at  the  end  of  every  verse,  burying  their 
noses  in  them,  and  taking  down  the  bad  wine  in  long  swal- 
lows ;  then  a  waving  of  caps  in  demonstration  of  their  joy. 
a  reciprocal  clapping  of  hands  on  the  back,  and  a  sharp  and 
surly  shouting  of  "  Hurrah  for  the  blonde,"  with  certain  grins, 
a  monkey-like  puckering  up  of  the  nose,  and  the  attitudes  of 
satyrs.  Around  the  group  of  more  harmonious  voices  is  a 
small  circle  of  spectators,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  chorus  there 
is  a  director,  who  marks  the  time  with  his  finger,  and  reproves 
any  one  who  goes  out  of  tune,  performing  his  part  in  the  most 
serious  way,  with  a  modest  face,  and  glancing  around  as  he 
does  so  at  the  audience,  which  continues  to  increase. 

Then  there  are  the  solitary  and  melancholy  ones  who  take 
refuge  from  all  that  racket,  and  to  whom  the  music  and  shout- 
ing, even  when  heard  at  a  distance,  causes  sadness  and  con- 
tempt. They  wander  around  the  deserted  portions  of  the 
camp,  or  seat  themselves  on  the  edges  of  the  ditch,  with  their 
feet  just  above  the  water,  poking  the  sand  and  stones  at  the 
bottom  with  a  willow  stick,  or  else  they  lie  stretched  out  across 
the  opening  of  the  tent,  their  faces  buried  in  their  hands,  the 
smoked-out  pipe  in  their  fingers,  and  their  eyes  following  in  a 
dazed  sort  of  way  the  beautiful  little  flame-colored  clouds 
caused  by  the  setting  sun.  Their  eyes  run  over  the  tops  of 
those  mountains  and  they  think  what  may  be  behind  :  a  plain  ; 
then,  other  mountains  ;  and  behind  these  ?  another  plain ; 
and  so  on  over  mountains,  valleys,  and  unknown  plains,  in 
imagination,  until  suddenly  they  discern  the  dear  and  well- 
known  hills  of  their  own  home,  and  they  contemplate  with  a 
mingling  of  tenderness  and  grief  that  sunset  which  they  have 


222  MILITARY  LIFE. 

not  seen  in  so  long  a  time.  Then,  suddenly,  they  turn  their 
eyes  and  seem  to  become  aware,  at  that  point,  where  and  among 
whom  they  are  ;  they  heave  a  deep  sigh,  give  a  toss  of  the  head 
as  if  to  chase  away  the  feeling  of  melancholy  which  begins  to 
creep  into  their  hearts,  rise  and  away  they  run  to  join  the 
others,  and  join  in  the  general  racket,  since  it  is  no  use  to 
grieve  over  things  which  cannot  be  helped. 

But  not  all  solitary  men  change  their  thoughts  so  easily. 
Many  of  the  younger  soldiers  and  some  of  the  older  ones  re- 
main there  the  entire  evening,  thinking  and  thinking,  plucking 
up  the  grass  about  them.  Some,  seated  cross-legged,  Turk 
fashion,  polishing  their  bayonets  with  a  bit  of  rag,  mending 
their  clothes,  or  attending  to  some  other  affair,  accompanying 
their  work  with  a  low  and  monotonous  chant,  which  is  sorrowful 
both  in  thought  and  expression.  Others  seize  their  knapsacks, 
spread  out  on  it  a  sheet  of  paper,  upon  which  is  depicted  a 
soldier  starting  for  the  war,  or  a  great  heart  pierced  by  a  huge 
arrow  ;  they  stretch  themselves  flat  on  the  ground,  draw  out 
the  stump  of  a  rusty  pen,  and  squeeze  and  arrange  the  stringy 
sponge  of  a  dried-up  inkstand,  and,  after  having  looked  at  the 
point  against  the  light  several  times,  and  pressed  it  as  many 
times  against  their  nails,  they  pass  and  repass  the  palm  of  the 
hand  over  the  sheet,  and  breathing  upon  it,  drawing  in  and  out 
their  necks  as  they  do  so,  scratch  great  crooked  words  and 
form  wavering  pot-hooks,  raising  their  faces  heavenward  from 
time  to  time,  as  if  asking  inspiration  for  a  word  or  phrase 
which  they  no  longer  remember,  but  which  they  have  certainly 
read,  they  could  swear  to  it,  in  some  printed  book,  the  name 
of  which  has  slipped  from  their  mind.  Like  the  soldiers,  the 
officers,  too,  have  their  sad  hours,  and  they  sit  cross-legged  on 


THE   CAMP.  223 

the  boxes,  in  front  of  their  tents,  a  book  in  their  hands, 
or  wander  around  the  solitary  corners  of  the  camp  among 
the  soldiers.  "  To  whom  are  you  writing  ? "  asks  an  offi- 
cer, stopping  behind  a  soldier  who  is  writing.  "  Are  you 
writing  home?"  "Yes,  sir,"  replies  the  latter,  getting  on  to 
his  knees  in  order  to  rise  to  his  feet.  "  No,  no,  stay  where  you 
are  ;  and  go  on."  "  How  long  since  you  have  been  learning  ? " 
"  Four  months."  "  Let  me  see.  That  's  not  bad.  Bravo  !  " 
And  on  he  goes.  He  stops  behind  another  :  "  To  whom  are 
you  writing,  your  father?"  The  soldier  nods  in  the  negative, 
smiling  as  he  does  so.  "  To  whom  then,  your  mother  ? "  "  No." 
"  To  whom  then  ? "  The  soldier  continues  laughing,  twists  his 
head  around  into  his  shoulder,  and  with  one  hand  pretends  to 
play  with  the  sheet  in  order  to  hide  the  first  word.  "  Ah  !  I 
understand,  you  rascal."  Both  those  soldiers  are  contented  ;  a 
word  sufficed  to  put  them  in  good-humor ;  perhaps,  later,  they 
will  join  the  others  and  dance  too.  A  pleasant  word  costs  so 
little ! 

Let  us  look  on  to  the  road  and  see  who  is  coming.  Well, 
will  you  tell  me  what  it  is  that  the  quartermaster-sergeant  is 
carrying?  A  leather  bag  swung  over  his  shoulder  ?  Wait  until 
that  man  has  got  into  the  camp,  until  some  one  has  caught  sight 
of  him,  until  the  rumor  of  his  arrival  has  spread,  and  then  you 
will  see  what  a  tumult,  crowd,  and  confusion  there  is.  Here 
he  comes,  and  makes  with  quick,  stealthy  steps  for  his  tent, 
looking  suspiciously  around ;  he  tries  to  pass  unobserved  in 
order  to  dash  into  it,  and  arrange  that  mass  of  papers  a  little, 
for  if  he  does  not  do  so,  it  will  be  almost  impossible  to  dis- 
tribute them.  But  it  is  in  vain.  A  soldier  discovers  him,  turns 
to  his  comrades,  and  gives  a  shout  of  joy  :  "  Letters  !  Let- 


224  MILITARY  LIFE. 

ters  ?  "  they  ask,  running  around  and  glancing  here  and  there. 
"Where  is  he?  where  is  he?"  "  He  went  this  way."  "No, 
that."  "Ah,  here  he  is  !"  All  dash  in  that  direction.  Mean- 
while the  news  has  flown  to  the  last  boundaries  of  the  camp  ; 
two,  three,  or  four  soldiers  break  from  every  circle,  and  away 
they  run, — who  will  arrive  first  and  get  hold  of  the  first  letter  ! 
.  .  .  Ah,  the  poor  carrier  is  already  surrounded,  enveloped, 
squeezed,  and  suffocated  by  a  restless,  impatient  crowd,  who 
have  their  arms  in  the  air,  stretch  out  their  hands,  and  deafen 
him  with  a  hum  of  supplicating  and  persistent  voices,  and  sway- 
ing about  they  bear  him  here  and  there  just  as  it  happens,  until, 
from  all  those  outstretched  arms,  two,  three,  or  four  hands 
holding  convulsively  the  wished-for  letter,  detach  themselves, 
and  off  go  the  men,  into  their  tents,  to  read  them  in  peace  and 
quiet.  Little  by  little  the  press  diminishes,  and  the  crowd  is 
reduced  to  a  group  ;  some  disappointed,  headstrong  creatures 
still  stand  there  persisting  in  a  lamentable  tone  of  voice  : 
"  But  really  is  there  nothing  for  me  ?  It  is  impossible ;  look 
again  ;  do  me  that  favor."  "  But  if  I  tell  you  that  there  is 
nothing  !  "  "Oh,  for  heaven's  sake  give  me  time  to  breathe  !  " 
The  few  who  remain  scatter  slowly,  their  chins  on  their  breasts, 
their  arms  hanging;  and  the  poor  letter-carrier  breathes, 
draws  in  a  long  breath,  and  wiping  his  forehead  with  his  hand, 
exclaims  :  "  Heaven  be  praised — that  is  over  !  " 

Along  the  edge  of  the  road,  toward  the  camp,  there  is  a  long 
line  of  inquisitive  people,  most  of  them  peasants,  men,  women, 
and  boys,  who  have  come  from  the  village  to  contemplate  this 
spectacle,  to  them  so  novel  and  curious.  The  children  sitting 
on  the  banks  of  the  ditch,  the  fathers  and  mothers  standing  on 
the  roadside,  the  grown-up  girls  a  step  behind  them.  All  point- 


THE   CAMP.  22$ 

ing  with  their  fingers  to  the  different  details  of  the  great 
picture,  giggling  at  the  shouts  of  the  singers,  pitying  the  pris- 
oners, and  breaking  out  into  exclamations  of  surprise  in  seeing 
some  jump,  and  commiserating  with  a  "  Poor  fellow,  he  must 
have  hurt  himself,"  those  who  have  fallen.  Then  they  com- 
ment upon  the  structure  of  the  tents  and  the  divisions  of  the 
camp,  and  explain  to  one  another  the  difference  of  grade, 
judging  from  the  bands  on  the  caps,  constantly  interrupting, 
and  growing  quite  provoked  at  each  other.  At  all  points  of 
the  road  where  there  are  two  or  three,  or  a  group  of  young 
and  pretty  peasant  girls,  there  is  correspondingly  in  the  camp, 
right  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  ditch,  an  unusual  gathering 
of  soldiers,  who,  like  all  men  when  they  know  women  are  look- 
ing at  them,  make  gestures,  assume  attitudes,  and  study  their 
slightest  movements,  with  a  careful  indifference,  an  indescrib- 
able air  of  liveliness  and  effrontery,  that  is  really  entertaining  ; 
and  the  peasants  laugh  and  laugh,  cover  their  faces  with  their 
hands,  hide  behind  each  bther,  or  scatter  and  group  themselves 
again,  still  laughing,  whispering  mysterious  words  in  each 
other's  ears,  and  sometimes  caressing  one  another,  just  for  the 
pleasure  (the  coquettes  !)  of  seeing  their  admirers  envy  them 
those  demonstrations  of  affection,  and  make  them  bite  their 
fingers  from  pure  rage. 

At  one  point  of  the  road  a  band  of  young  ladies,  from 
the  neighboring  villas,  has  appeared,  in  scant,  airy,  white, 
rose-colored,  blue,  and  very  light  dresses,  which  so  fly  about 
at  the  slightest  breath  of  wind,  that  they  are  obliged  to 
place  a  little  hand  on  them  and  stand  still  for  a  moment  to 
keep  them  in  place.  Those  young  ladies  are  bare-headed,  and 
that  light  breeze  stirs  and  disarranges  their  shining  ringlets, 


226  MILITARY  LIFE. 

and  forces  a  white  arm  to  raise  itself  from  time  to  time,  and  a 
small,  patient  finger  to  put  the  riotous  locks  in  order.  Near 
by,  in  the  camp,  there  is  a  group  of  officers,  who  glance  along 
the  ground.  Oh,  if  there  would  only  come  a  breath  of  wind  ! 
Ah,  it  begins  to  increase,  passes,  seizes  a  little  white  skirt,  the 
same  small  hand  does  not  arrive  in  time  to  prevent  it  from  fly- 
ing. .  .  .  Oh,  what  a  pretty  little  foot !  Those  officers 
know  they  are  being  watched,  and  how  they  enjoy  it !  If  this 
were  not  the  case,  that  man,  to  cite  one  instance,  the  one 
nearest  the  ditch,  would  not  wear  his  sash  with  that  careless 
elegance,  and  would  not  have  run  the  ring  along  so  that  a  bow 
falls  over  one  hip  and  the  other  down  to  the  knee  ;  that  other 
one  there  would  not  puff  clouds  of  smoke  into  the  air,  raising 
his  head  so  proudly  as  he  does  so,  and  would  not  stand  in  a 
Napoleonic  attitude  ;  this  third  would  not  feel  so  frequently 
at  the  nape  of  his  neck  to  see  if  the  small  amount  of  neck- 
band allowed  by  the  colonel  were  not  quite  limp  and  starchless. 
Meanwhile  a  family  from  the  village  comes  down  the  road 
and  stops  at  the  entrance  of  the  camp.  There  is  an  elderly, 
lively,  strong-limbed,  and  corpulent  papa,  with  one  of  those 
old-fashoned  faces,  two  ships'  sails  outside  the  cravat,  two  locks 
of  gray  hair  on  the  temples,  a  pair  of  elephant's  paws  in  two 
gray  linen  shoes,  and  a  knotted  stick  under  his  arm, — the  coun- 
terpart of  a  communal  secretary,  who  lives  in  perfect  peace 
with  all,  thoroughly  satisfied  with  himself  and  the  remarkable 
talent  for  arithmetic  developed  by  his  boys  at  school  ;  the 
good  face  of  a  mamma  under  a  hat  in  the  shape  of  a  Roman 
helmet ;  and  three  boys  dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  well 
combed,  oiled,  smoothed,  and  shining,  with  their  heads  still 
full  of  a  little  lesson  on  the  laws  of  politeness,  which  was  given 


THE    CAMP.  227 

in  haste  by  mamma  just  as  they  were  leaving  the  house.  They 
are  old  friends  of  the  colonel.  What  a  fortunate  chance  that 
he  should  have  camped  right  there,  near  their  house  !  The 
papa,  with  his  round  face  all  wreathed  in  smiles,  and  in  his 
loudest  voice,  begins  :  "  Mr.  Soldier,"  touching  the  wide  brim 
of  his  broad  hat  as  he  addresses  a  sentinel,  "  might  one  see 
the  Signor  Cavalier  Colonel,  commandant  of  the  regiment  ? " 
The  sentinel  makes  him  a  sign  to  pass,  and  points  with  his 
hand  to  the  colonel's  tent.  A  gray-bearded  sapper  runs  for- 
ward and  announces  the  visit.  The  family  walk  slowly  on  in  a 
most  respectful  and  circumspect  manner.  The  colonel  appears, 
looks  about,  stops,  knits  his  brow  to  see  better,  glances  at  the 
sky  as  if  to  collect  the  scattered  reminiscences  of  old  times, 
remembers,  and  recognizes  them,  and  smoothing  his  forehead 
and  uttering  a  prolonged  "oh  !  "  of  surprise  and  pleasure,  ad- 
vances to  meet  his  guests  with  outstretched  arms.  Then  fol- 
low the  reception  and  bows,  hurried  questions  and  answers, 
the  passing  of  hands  under  the  chins  of  the  children,  who  have 
sprung  up  in  an  astonishing  way,  and  have  grown  pretty. 
Then  :  "  Oh,  madame  !  "  the  colonel  exclaims,  in  order  to  start 
a  conversation,  "  the  effect  of  the  companies  is  very  great,  you 
know.  One  hundred  and  fifty  men  in  each ;  it  is  quite  a 
delight.  What  a  fine  camp,  eh?  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ? 
Would  you  like  to  take  a  turn  ?  "  The  family  consent  with 
thanks  ;  the  colonel,  after  a  little  reflection,  places  himself  on 
the  left  ot  the  lady,  the  husband  on  the  right,  and  the  children 
in  front ;  the  troop  begins  to  move.  Every  one  stands  aside. 
The  officers  salute  them.  A  subdued  murmur  precedes  and 
follows  them.  The  colonel,  a  good,  rough  soldier  that  he  is, 
forced  into  the  thankless  position  of  cavaliere  servenle,  says  to 


228  Ml  LIT  A  R  Y  LIJ?E. 

the  lady  :  "  Look  over  there  !  Those  are  the  kettles  of  the 
third  company,  those  of  the  fourth,  the  others  of  the  fifth. 
You  will  probably  tell  me  that  they  are  in  a  bad  condition, 
which  is  quite  true,  but  it  is  because  .  .  ."  and  then  he 
proceeds  to  explain  the  whys  and  wherefores.  And  the  lady, 
in  the  midst  of  those  two  rows  of  soldiers,  connot  conceal  her 
embarrassment  and  confusion  ;  but  the  papa,  proud  of  having 
a  colonel  at  his  side,  gives  a  slow,  benignant  glance  at  the 
soldiers,  repeating  from  time  to  time  in  a  tone  of  complacency 
and  admiration  :  "  What  a  fine  thing  youth  is  !  "  One  of  the 
boys  approaches  mamma,  and  pointing  to  the  ( colonel,  asks  : 
"  But  who  is  that  soldier  there  ?  "  "  Be  quiet,"  she  replies  in 
an  undertone  ;  "  he  is  the  one  who  commands  all  the  soldiers 
here."  "  And  could  he  cut  off  all  their  heads  if  he  wanted  to  ?  " 
asks  the  child. 

"  The  music  !  the  music  !  "  they  suddenly  shout  on  all  sides 
of  the  camp.  In  fact  the  musicians  have  come  out  of  the  tents 
one  by  one,  have  collected,  marched  toward  the  centre  of  the 
camp,  formed  a  circle,  and  stand  awaiting  the  signal  of  the 
band-master,  holding  their  instruments  in  their  hands  quite 
ready  to  place  them  at  their  lips.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
tell  it,  an  immense  crowd  has  gathered  around  them,  half  the 
regiment  in  fact;  a  deafening  noise  is  raised,  loud  shouts  of  joy, 
and  a  burst  of  hand-clapping  and  whistles ;  the  most  furious 
dancers  break  through  the  crowd  by  means  of  blows  and  their 
elbows,  look  for  and  call  each  other,  dash  together,  and  by 
placing  their  hands  on  their  chests,  pushing  into  them  and 
treading  on  their  toes,  they  succeed  in  opening  a  circle  ;  the 
couples  prepare,  the  dancers  seize  a  handful  of  shirt  on  their 
partners'  backs  (if  they  were  only  women),  clasp  their  fingers, 


THE    CAMP.  229 

put  the  left  foot  forward,  bend  their  knees,  turn  their  faces 
toward  the  leader:  "Well,  are  you  going  to  play,  or  not?" 
The  couples  grow  impatient,  tap  their  feet,  shake  their  fists, 
twist  themselves,  puff,  shout  ;  the  leader  makes  a  sign  with  his 
finger,  the  instruments  are  placed  at  the  mouths,  the  tongues 
protrude  and  moisten  the  upper  and  lower  lips  ;  another  sign, 
and  they  begin  to  play.  The  couples  are  in  motion,  turn,  rer 
turn,  touch  each  other,  meet,  dash  right  and  left,  forward, 
backward,  back  to  back,  hip  to  hip,  the  heels  on  their  neigh- 
bors' corns,  away  they  go  blindly,  just  as  it  happens,  fall  or 
not  as  the  case  may  be  ;  there  must  be  place  for  every  one,  if 
not,  they  make  it  by  blows  and  kicks,  they  push,  stagger,  shout, 
and  grin.  In  a  moment  the  grass  in  the  field  has  disappeared 
under  the  heavy  feet,  the  ground  is  broken  up,  the  couples  get 
mixed,  divided,  or  grouped  differently  ;  others  fall  flat  to  the 
ground,  and  the  dancers,  pressed  over  them,  stumble  and  tumble 
on  to  them  ;  others  were  dashed  into  the  midst  of  the  surround- 
ing crowd;  but,  in  the  midst  of  that  hurly-burly,  the  Lombard- 
ian  continues  to  dance  imperturbably  with  that  swaying  of  the 
hips  and  motion  of  the  head  and  shoulders,  that  crossing  of 
legs  and  sudden  bending  of  the  knee  as  if  on  the  point  of  fall- 
ing, that  sudden  rising  as  if  on  springs  ;  the  Piedmontese  goes 
on  impassible  and  grave,  and  takes  things  seriously,  warms 
up  to  his  work,  and  is  proud  too  of  his  robust  graces;  and  the 
Calabrians,  two  by  two,  facing  each  other,  their  necks  crooked, 
arms  akimbo,  their  faces  in  grotesque  shapes,  upright  or 
doubled,  continue  to  dash  rapidly  over  the  ground. 

What  is  the  matter  ? 

A  sudden  deep  silence  has  fallen  upon  the  camp  ;  all  faces 
turn  in  one  direction ;  he  who  was  on  the  ground  rises  ;  he  who 


230  MI  LI  TARY  LIFE. 

was  on  the  edge  of  the  camp  comes  to  the  centre  ;  under  the 
sutler's  tent  the  customers  have  sprung  to  their  feet  on  to  the 
benches  and  tables  ;  others  have  climbed  on  to  the  wagons. 
Every  one  has  come  out  of  the  tents.  What  has  happened  ? 
What  is  the  matter  ? 

I  Look  up  the  road.  A  horseman  is  advancing  on  a  gallop, 
enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  dust  ;  is  quite  near  the  entrance, 
starts  toward  the  colonel's  tent,  and  stops.  The  colonel 
comes  out  ;  the  horseman  salutes,  hands  him  a  paper,  turns, 
and  gallops  off. 

All  eyes  are  turned  in  that  direction,  every  one  is  astonished 
and  silent.  One  would  say  that  every  one  was  holding  his 
breath  ;  the  camp  looks  like  a  square  filled  with  people  intent 
on  fireworks  when  the  unexpected  glare  of  the  Bengal  light 
illumines  ten  thousand  faces  with  wide-stretched  eyes  and  open 
mouths. 

The  colonel  opens  the  paper,  turns  toward  the  trumpeter, 
makes  a  sign.  .  .  . 

Before  the  first  blast  has  sounded,  a  universal,  prolonged, 
and  very  loud  shout  bursts  out  like  a  thunder-clap,  rises  to 
heaven  from  ail  sides  of  the  camp  ;  the  entire  scattered  mul- 
titude starts  in  every  direction  with  startling  rapidity  ;  the 
benches  and  tables  of  the  sutler  are  deserted  in  an  instant  ; 
the  poor  man  dashes  his  hands  into  his  hair  ;  quick  !  down 
with  the  tent,  out  with  the  boxes,  in  with  plates,  cabbages, 
sausages,  bottles,  clothes,  chickens,  cigars,  every  thing  in  con- 
fusion ;  time  flies  ;  another  blast  of  the  trumpet  is  imminent ; 
the  officers  wander  hastily  about  the  camp,  calling  in  a  loud 
voice  for  their  orderlies,  who  arrive  breathless  and  dripping 
with  perspiration.  Quick  !  take  hold  of  the  boxes,  in  with 


THE   CAMP.  231 

the  clothes  ;  boots  on  top  of  shirts,  combs  in  the  pockets, 
no  matter,  only  be  quick  !  The  boxes  will  not  shut ;  down 
with  the  knees  on  the  cover ;  more  force,  more  still, — oh  !  it  's 
closed.  Quick  !  roll  up  the  overcoat ;  here  with  the  jacket, 
sword,  sack  ;  we  are  in  order  at  least.  And  the  soldiers 
around  the  tents,  loosening  the  knots  in  the  cords  with  their 
nails,  rolling  up  covers  and  linen,  filling  the  knapsacks  hastily, 
buttoning  on  their  gaiters  with  the  confounded  cramped  fingers 
which  cannot  find  the  button-holes,  feeling  in  the  straw  for 
the  bowl,  tassel,  bayonet,  with  red  face,  dripping  brow,  labored 
breath,  and  in  a  perfect  fever  lest  the  second  blast  of  the 
trumpet  should  sound,  with  the  voice  of  the  sergeant  at  their 
backs  threatening  them  with  imprisonment  if  late,  with  the 
scarecrow  before  them  of  the  captain  who  is  stamping  his 
feet,  shouting  and  screaming  :  "  Quick  !  quick  !  quick  !  " 
Another  blast  of  the  trumpet.  "  Form  the  ranks  !  "  shout  a 
hundred  excited  voices.  All  rush  forward  just  as  they  are, 
with  their  fatigue  caps  on  the  back  of  their  heads,  their  coats 
unbuttoned,  belts  in  hand,  their  knapsacks  hanging  over  one 
shoulder.  "  To  your  place,  quickly  ;  order — right  about." 
The  companies  form  tumultuously,  breaking  open  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  every  fresh  advent  of  soldiers,  then  close  in, 
sway  backward  and  forward,  undulate  from  the  head  to  the  foot, 
get  out  of  order,  and  then  form  again  rapidly.  Another  blast 
of  the  trumpet.  The  regiment  starts.  The  first  company  is 
outside  the  camp, — the  second — the  third — the  camp  is  empty. 
Such  is  camp  life  ;  sometimes  hard  and  distasteful,  but  al- 
ways beautiful  and  beloved.  Who  is  there  who,  having  tried 
it,  does  not  love  it,  and  does  not  recall  it  with  pleasure,  and 
desire  it  with  enthusiasm  ? 


THE  DISABLED  SOLDIER. 


IN  the  evening,  at  a  certain  hour,  the  aspect  of  the  country 
produces  upon  the  soul  a  vague  feeling  of  melancholy,  which 
resembles  that  oppression  of  the  heart  experienced  by  chil- 
dren who,  having  escaped  from  the  house  to  wander  about 
through  the  fields,  from  path  to  path,  farm  to  farm,  go  on  and 
on  until  they  suddenly  discover  that  they  are  alone  ;  they 
look  around  them,  the  place  is  dark  and  gloomy  ;  they  glance 
back,  they  have  lost  their  way  ;  they  raise  their  eyes  to  heaven, 
the  sun  has  disappeared  ;  the  mother,  poor  woman  !  is  waiting 
for  them.  "  Oh,  dear  me,  what  have  I  done  ?  "  they  exclaim, 
and  there  they  stand  quite  dazed,  with  a  lump  in  their  throats 
and  their  little  hearts  all  in  a  tumult.  This  is  the  nature  of 
the  melancholy  which  gradually  takes  possession  of  our  souls 
in  the  country,  when  the  sun  has  set,  every  thing  is  becoming 
one  hue,  and  along  the  mountain  tops  there  is  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  a  slender  streak  of  sky,  pale  gold  in  color,  above 
which  the  stars  are  rapidly  beginning  to  appear.  It  is  a  sad 
hour,  one  which  is  made  sadder  still  by  the  monotonous 
croaking  of  the  frogs  and  the  distant  barking  of  dogs,  which 
break  from  time  to  time  the  deep  and  solemn  silence  of  the 
country.  Who,  walking  at  that  hour  through  a  solitary 
lane,  in  the  direction  of  the  city,  but  still  far  from  it,  not  seeing 

232 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  233 

a  living  soul  about,  nor  hearing  other  noise  than  the  sound 
of  his  own  footsteps,  does  not  find  barking  of  the  dogs 
burdensome  ?  Not  that  he  is  exactly  afraid,  but,  well — he 
could  do  without  it.  Passing  before  the  gates  of  the  vege- 
table- and  flower-gardens,  he  walks  on  tiptoe  in  order  not  to 
rouse  the  ugly  dog  crouched  behind  them,  holds  his  breath, 
and  listens  attentively  ;  he  has  nearly  passed  the  gate,  is  al- 
most in  safety,  when  a  wretched  bark  which  thoroughly  star- 
tles him  breaks  out  at  his  back,  and  he  passes  on  without 
even  turning,  but  he  seems  to  see  the  ravenous  beast  with  his 
nose  at  the  crack  in  the  gate,  and  his  eyes  gleaming  with  rage. 
On  he  goes,  but  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  as  he  does  not 
mind  the  dust,  provided  he  is  not  obliged  to  pass  too  near  the 
hedges  ;  and  if  he  hears  the  sound  of  footsteps  or  the  voices 
of  two  wayfarers  who  are  talking  together,  he  does  not  turn 
back  to  see  who  they  are,  as  that  would  make  him  appear  like 
a  coward,  but  proceeds  with  his  eyes  on  the  alert,  and  pretend- 
ing to  glance  at  the  fields,  he  takes  them  in  with  the  corner  of 
his  eye  ;  then  gazing  ahead  of  him  he  sees  appear  in  the  dis- 
tance two  men  on  horseback,  enveloped  in  huge  black  cloaks, 
their  heads  covered  by  a  two-pointed  hat  (gens  d*  armes)  ;  he 
takes  courage,  quickens  his  pace,  and  arriving  in  front  of 
those  two  unexpected  friends,  makes  way  for  them,  looking  at 
them  with  an  expression  of  amiable  obsequiousness,  and  ac- 
cepting, with  a  feeling  of  intense  pleasure,  the  long,  searching 
glance  they  bestow  upon  him.  When  he  finally  reaches  the 
blessed  gates  of  the  city,  and  perceives  the  first  lamp-post  in 
the  nearest  street :  "  Heaven  be  praised  !  "  he  exclaims,  as  he 
dusts  off  his  boots  with  his  handkerchief ;  "  here  we  are  at 
last  !  "  At  that  hour  any  one  passing  the  gate  of  a  cemetery 


234  MILITARY  LIFE. 

does  not  stop,  although  the  strange  fears  of  the  common  peo- 
ple and  children  do  not  pass  through  his  mind,  but  goes 
straight  on,  turning  his  face  in  the  opposite  direction.  In  going 
by  the  solitary  chapels  in  the  country,  the  children  are  almost 
frightened  by  the  sound  of  their  own  steps,  which,  entering  by 
the  windows,  resounds  under  the  dark  vault.  At  that  hour, 
and  until  a  ray  of  light  is  to  be  seen  in  the  west,  the  families 
of  the  people  at  the  villas  live  on  the  terraces,  leaning  over 
the  railings  to  contemplate  in  silence  that  sad  spectacle  : 
nightfall  in  the  country.  The  boys  point  out  with  their  little 
fingers  the  small  lights  that  appear  one  by  one  in  the  country- 
houses,  or  ask  papa  the  names  of  the  stars,  and  if  there  are 
people  like  us  in  them.  The  girls,  sitting  apart,  with  one  arm 
on  the  back  of  the  chair  and  their  heads  resting  on  their  arms, 
fix  their  eyes  dreamily  on  the  distant  mountains  and  are  soon 
lost  in  thought.  But  they  are  not  thinking  of  those  moun- 
tains. At  such  times  their  thoughts  withdraw  wearily  from 
that  silence  and  solitude  ;  although  they  are  in  the  midst  of 
their  family,  they  feel  quite  alone  and  abandoned.  They  feel 
that  some  great  good  is  lacking,  that  there  is  a  void  in  their 
hearts,  that  their  life  is  not  complete  ;  and  their  fancy  runs 
irresistibly  on  to  the  city,  loses  itself  in  the  joyous  tumult  of 
balls,  seeks  and  finds  again  the  dear  faces  forgotten  for  so 
long  a  time,  enjoys  reviving  those  imageries,  in  presenting  it- 
self upon  the  spot,  and  sharing  with  them  that  sweet  melan- 
choly. They  count  the  time  they  shall  still  have  to  pass  at 
the  villa,  run  over  that  time  in  their  mind,  and  enjoy,  in  an- 
ticipation, the  pleasures  of  return  and  the  first  sight  of  those 
dear  faces,  waking  finally  from  those  sad  and  lovely  fancies 
as  they  would  from  a  dream. 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  235 

Oh  !  that  hour  in  the  country  is  a  sad  one.  Even  if  you  were 
beside  the  woman  whom  you  love,  at  the  height  of  your  bliss, 
none  but  sad  fancies  would  pass  through  your  mind,  and  none 
but  sad  words  come  to  your  lips. 

Just  at  that  hour,  one  evening,  during  the  early  part  of  May, 
in  1866,  in  a  deserted  lane  which  ran  across  the  slope  of  a  hill, 
near  one  of  those  country  shrines  where  the  picture  of  the  Vir- 
gin is  painted  at  the  back  of  a  niche,  a  young  girl  and  a  soldier 
were  talking  in  an  undertone  :  the  former  seated  on  a  large 
stone,  leaning  against  a  projection  of  the  shrine,  her  elbows 
resting  on  her  knees,  her  chin  in  her  hands  ;  the  latter  erect  be- 
side her,  leaning  with  one  shoulder  against  the  wall,  and  his  arms 
crossed  over  his  breast.  He  had  on  his  fatigue  cap,  as  soldiers 
call  it,  and  wore  a  coat  ;  his  knapsack  lay  at  his  feet,  and  in  this 
was  a  bundle.  There  was  something  sad  and  despairing  in  the 
girl's  appearance,  and  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  motionless  on  the 
ground  ;  a  little  light,  which  was  burning  before  the  image  of 
the  Virgin,  cast  a  veiled  gleam  over  the  brow  buried  in  the 
hands,  and  showed  the  imprint  of  a  long  fit  of  weeping  around 
the  eyes.  The  soldier,  without  his  belt  or  musket,  looked  like 
a  soldier  on  leave,  and  such  was  the  case,  for  he  belonged  to 
one  of  the  classes  that  had  been  recalled  to  arms  on  the  a8th  of 
April,  and  on  the  seventh  day  after  the  publication  of  the  royal 
decree  they  were  to  present  themselves  before  the  military  com- 
mandants of  the  district.  That  soldier  must  be  on  the  follow- 
ing day  in  a  neighboring  city,  ten  miles,  or  less,  distant  from 
that  place. 

Judging  from  the  attitudes  of  the  young  girl  and  himself,  and 
from  the  long  silence  which  followed  their  few  subdued  words, 
it  seemed  as  if  they  must  have  been  there  for  some  time.  Not 


236  MILITARY  LIFE. 

a  living  soul  was  on  the  road,  either  near  by  or  in  the  distance, 
and  a  profound  silence  reigned  all  around.  Only,  from  time 
to  time,  one  could  hear  a  confused  sound  of  distant  voices, 
which  came  from  a  house  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  slope, 
where  lights  appeared  and  disappeared.  They  were  peas- 
ants who  had  returned  from  the  fields  and  who  were  replacing 
their  things,  putting  the  oxen  to  their  stalls,  and  talking  loudly 
to  each  across  the  yard.  Suddenly  the  soldier  drew  away  from 
the  wall,  took  both  the  hands  of  the  girl,  who  instantly  rose  to 
her  feet,  and  said  to  her  in  that  faltering  tone  of  pity  which  is 
used  when  giving  some  one  a  sad  piece  of  news  :  "  It  is  late, 
you  know,  Gigia.  It  is  time  for  me  to  go.  I  must  be  in  town 
betimes  to-morrow,  and  the  road  is  long." 

Having  said  which  he  looked  into  the  girl's  face.  The  latter, 
without  opening  her  mouth,  moved  nearer  him,  placed  her  two 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  let  her  head  drop  on  to  them,  and 
sobbed.  "  Courage,  Gigia,  courage.  We  '11  fire  a  couple  of 
shots  and  then  return." 

"  Return  ! "  she  said,  raising  her  head  slowly,  and  letting  it 
insfantly  drop  again.  "Who  knows?"  she  then  added,  in  a 
voice  full  of  tears,  from  behind  her  hands. 

A  moment  of  silence  followed,  after  which  the  soldier 
went  on  :  "  Well,  then,  good-by,  Gigia."  He  placed  his 
hands  on  her  temples,  raised  her  head,  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead,  stooped,  picked  up  his  knapsack,  slung  it  over 
his  back,  passing  one  arm  over  his  head,  fastened  the  straps, 
bent  once  more  to  take  up  the  bundle,  and  giving  his  hand 
to  the  girl,  made  ready  to  start.  She,  who  meanwhile  had 
covered  her  face  with  her  apron,  and  stood  motionless  as  if 
Stunned  by  grief,  suddenly  started,  and  seizing  the  soldier's 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  237 

hand  with  both  of  hers,  said,  in  a  firm  and  resolute  voice, 
wishing  by  this  means  to  delay  his  departure  for  a  few  mo- 
ments :  "  You  will  write — you  will  write  every  day  !  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  really  every  day,"  the  soldier  replied  in  an 
affectionate  tone. 

"And  why  not  ?  "  she  asked  hastily,  in  a  reproachful  voice. 

"But  if  we  are  marching  every  day  ?  " 

"  Yes  ! — "  replied  the  girl  in  a  low  tone,  dropping  her  head. 
"But  at  least,"  she  went  on,  suddenly  taking  courage,  "  at  least 
every  day  when  there  is  a  battle  you  will  write  and  tell  me  you 
are  well  ? " 

He,  who  at  any  other  time  would  have  smiled  at  the  charm- 
ing ingenuousness  of  that  question,  felt  his  heart  sink  with  a 
compassionate  tenderness,  which  was  so  strong  and  sudden, 
that  he  was  overcome  by  it,  and  knew  that  it  was  necessary 
to  go  off  at  that  moment  and  without  another  word.  He 
put  his  arms  around  her,  kissed  her,  and  away  he  ran.  "  Oh  ! 
listen,"  the  poor  creature  shouted  in  a  supplicating  tone, 
running  a  few  steps  after  him  with  her  arms  outstretched  ; 
"  one  word  more."  He  did  not  turn  ;  she  stopped,  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  stood  motionless  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  for  a  moment,  then  turned  back,  and  fell  on  her  knees 
before  the  shrine,  weeping  and  sobbing  bitterly,  as  children  do. 

The  soldier  went  hurriedly  on  his  way  without  turning  back. 
When  he  reached  a  certain  point  where  the  road  divided,  he 
stopped.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  turned,  looked  at  the 
shrine,  saw  her  ;  she  raised  her  head  at  that  moment,  glanced 
toward  him,  seemed  to  see  him,  rose  to  her  feet ;  he  disap- 
peared. He  had  struck  that  branch  of  the  road  which,  de- 
scending rapidly,  led  to  the  city. 


238  MILITARY  LIFE. 

He  rejoined  his  regiment  at  the  beginning  of  May,  and  then 
wrote  a  letter  home  almost  every  day,  received  one  as  often 
from  his  father,  mother,  and  betrothed ;  all  written,  however, 
by  the  latter's  hand,  as  no  one  in  his  family  was  able  to  write  ; 
the  old  father  knowing  only  enough  arithmetic  for  his  own 
special  use. 

He  was  at  the  battle  of  the  twenty-fourth  of  June.  Two 
weeks  elapsed  after  that  day  before  his  family  received  any 
news  of  him.  Picture  their  anxiety,  heart-beats,  and  dis- 
quietude. But  one  fine  day,  as  God  willed,  a  letter  came,  and 
how  much  joy  it  gave  them.  They  opened  it  with  trembling 
hands.  .  .  .  Ah,  but  it  was  not  written  by  him  ;  and  they 
grew  pale.  After  reading  it,  however,  they  recovered  from 
their  first  fright,  because  he  wrote  that  he  had  received  a 
wound  in  his  hand  on  the  day  of  the  battle  ;  it  was  a  slight 
wound,  of  which  every  trace  would  have  vanished  within  a  few 
days,  and  he  should  have  got  out  of  bed  but  for  a  slight  fever 
caused  by  the  loss  of  a  little  blood.  They  were  to  keep  up 
their  courage,  because  it  was  nothing  to  cause  any  anxiety,  and 
excuse  his  not  having  written  himself,  the  right  hand  being  the 
one  wounded,  and  his  fingers  still  paining  him  ;  only  a  trifle, 
however,  almost  none  at  all.  Little  by  little  the  family  became 
calm.  A  week  from  that  day  they  received  the  first  letter 
written  by  him ;  they  knew  that  he  had  returned  to  his  regi- 
ment, and  they  said  nothing  more  about  that  slight  misfortune, 
•because  something  worse  might  have  happened  to  him,  and 
they  ought  to  thank  God  that  things  had  gone  as  they  had. 

Poor  people  !  if  things  had  gone  so,  they  really  might  have 
thanked  heaven  ;  but  they  did  not  know  the  truth.  The  poor 
soldier  had  been  struck  by  a  rifle  ball  in  the  leg,  at  a  hundred 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  239 

paces  from  the  enemy  ;  the  bullet  had  broken  two  bones,  the 
tibia  and  the  fibula  ;  he  had  been  carried  to  the  hospital,  and 
they  had  amputated  the  leg  a  few  inches  below  the  knee. 

After  forty  days,  they  gave  him  a  wooden  leg,  a  pair  of 
crutches,  a  passport,  and,  opening  the  doors  of  the  hospital, 
said  :  "  Go  home,  poor  fellow,  you  have  done  your  part." 

Before  turning  homeward,  he  wrote  to  his  mother  to  in- 
form her  of  his  departure,  and  the  day  and  hour  of  his  arri- 
val ;  having  written  which  he  resolved  to  tell  them  of  his  mis- 
fortune, but  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  so.  Numberless 
times  did  he  write  the  first  words  and  instantly  scratched  them 
out,  almost  frightened  that  they  should  have  fallen  from  his 
pen.  But  the  letter  had  not  gone  before  there  came  to  his 
mind  all  the  possible  consequences,  in  fact  the  inevitable  and 
terrible  sorrow  his  pious  fraud  would  cause  ;  he  was  troubled 
that  he  had  been  silent  on  the  subject  of  his  misfortune,  was 
astonished  that  he  had  never  thought  what  sadness  might  fol- 
low his  reticence  in  not  telling  the  truth  bravely  ;  and  going 
over  in  imagination  all  that  would  happen  at  home  upon  his 
appearance  in  this  state,  picturing  the  despair  of  his  parents 
at  so  unexpected  and  terrible  a  sight,  and  thinking  of  his 
betrothed  and  friends,  he  dashed  his  hands  into  his  hair  in 
utter  despair,  and  began  wept. 

But  it  was  too  late. 

He  arrived  in  the  city  near  his  home  the  day  before  that  when, 
according  to  his  letter,  he  ought  to  have  been  with  his  family. 
He  slept  at  an  inn.  The  following  morning  betimes,  helped  by 
the  landlord,  he  climbed  into  the  cart  of  a  miller  which  was  to 
pass  the  hill,  placed  his  crutches  by  his  side,  seated  himself 
on  two  sacks  of  flour,  the  miller  gave  reins  to  the  horse,  and 
they  started. 


240  MILITARY  LIFE. 

Passing  for  several  miles  along  the  road  down  in  the  valley, 
the  cart  did  not  begin  to  climb  the  hill  until  some  hours 
after  their  departure.  During  that  time,  the  poor  soldier,  who 
had  not  been  able  to  close  his  eyes  during  the  night,  oppressed 
by  a  rapid  and  troubled  succession  of  thoughts,  imageries, 
and  painful  presentiments,  had  sunk  into  a  species  of  lethargy, 
induced  by  the  monotony  of  the  road  and  the  slowness  of 
their  pace,  and  only  interrupted  now  and  then  by  the  jolt- 
ing of  the  cart  over  the  uneven  road.  But  when,  on  feel- 
ing a  stronger  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  sharper  wind  on  his  face, 
he  became  aware  that  the  cart  had  come  out  from  among  the 
trees  and  begun  to  ascend,  then  he  waked  quickly,  saw  that  hill, 
that  road,  those  houses,  instantly  closed  his  eyes  again,  turned 
away  his  head  as  if  seized  by  a  sudden  fright,  and  threw  himself 
face  downward  on  the  sacks  with  his  face  in  his  hands.  His  heart 
beat  violently  ;  his  blood  was  in  a  tumult ;  his  brain  became 
stunned  as  if  he  had  received  a  great  blow  on  his  head.  And 
he  remained  a  long  time  in  that  position. 

He  changed  it  little  by  little,  first  lifting  his  head,  placing  his 
hands  on  the  sacks  to  raise  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  then 
getting  up  entirely,  but  always  with  his  back  to  the  hills,  and 
finally  turning  his  head  in  that  direction,  but  without  glancing 
upward.  Shortly  thereafter  he  began  to  look  at  the  horse  ; 
then  a  little  farther  along,  on  the  road,  to  the  right  and  left 
and  ahead  :  "  Ah  !  There  are  those  blessed  houses  !  "  And  his 
heart  gave  a  bound  as  if  he  had  got  there  by  accident,  and 
the  houses  had  appeared  before  him  involuntarily.  They 
were  still  very  far  away,  quite  indistinct ;  they  hardly  looked 
as  large  as  white  specks  half  hidden  among  the  trees ; 
yet  they  seemed  quite  near  to  him,  and  he  felt  as  if  he 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  241 

should  reach  them  in  a  few  minutes.  Then  his  parents, 
relatives,  and  friends  would  gather  around  the  cart,  and  he 
would  have  to  get  down,  and  how  should  he  do  it !  And 
he  pictured  it  to  himself,  and  seemed  to  see  all  those  dear 
people,  who  would  certainly  be  gathered  in  a  group  at  that 
hour  on  the  street,  at  the  doors  of  their  houses,  or  in  the  yards, 
waiting  for  him.  He  seemed  to  hear  the  gay  voices  come 
faintly  to  his  ear,  and  among  those  voices  he  distinguished  one 
dearer  and  sweeter  than  all.  His  heart-strings  tightened,  and 
he  wished  those  houses  farther  away,  so  far  that  he  could  not 
see  them  yet.  On  the  other  hand,  they  were  right  there,  and 
seemed  to  be  approaching  him  more  rapidly  than  he  did  them, 
so  he  closed  his  eyes  and  dropped  his  head  in  order  not  to  see 
them.  Yet  this  was  a  worse  torture,  for  in  opening  his  eyes  a 
moment,  and  raising  them,  he  seemed  to  have  got  over  a  great 
deal  of  the  road,  a  hundred  times  more  than  he  had  done  in 
reality.  Then  he  thought  of  turning  his  back  to  the  horse, 
and,  moving  the  stump  slowly,  he  turned.  But  he  could  not 
remain  in  this  position  long,  for  at  every  instant  he  felt  an 
irresistible  desire  to  turn  his  head  back,  greatly  to  the  discom- 
fort of  his  entire  body.  He  then  assumed  his  first  position 
again.  And,  glancing  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  road,  he  dis- 
covered, at  a  short  distance,  a  large  oak  with  its  trunk  split 
through  the  middle,  and  the  thick,  leafy  branches,  under  which 
there  was  a  board,  upheld  by  two  stones,  which  served  as  a  seat. 
He  looked  at  the  seat,  touched  his  forehead  with  one  hand,  as 
if  just  becoming  aware  of  the  sudden  outbreak  of  a  recollec- 
tion ;  his  eyes  glistened,  his  cheeks  reddened,  he  clasped  his 
hands  violently,  and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  motionless  on  the 
spot,  went  on  raising  and  dropping  his  head,  as  if  to  say  yes  to 


242  MILITARY  LIFE, 

all  the  recollections  which  were  waking  in  him,  one  recalled  by 
the  other.  That  was  exactly  the  spot  where  he  had  come  one 
evening  with  her,  despite  the  admonition  of  his  mother  :  "  Do 
not  go  too  far  away  !  "  And  she  had  not  wished  to  come,  as 
it  was  really  too  far  from  home,  and  at  that  hour,  late  in  the 
evening,  alone  with  him  !  But,  heavens,  how  he  had  begged 
her !  the  sky  was  so  clear,  the  air  so  mild,  and  the  whole 
country  so  fragrant,  that  she  had  been  obliged  to  yield  and 
come.  They  were  seated  there,  on  that  seat ;  had  exchanged 
few  words,  but  these  were  tender,  rapid,  and  faltering  ;  he  had 
sought  her  hand,  and  she,  frightened  by  the  thought  of  being 
alone  with  him  whom  she  loved,  had  shut  her  hand  and  drawn 
it  from  him  with  gentle  force,  so  that  he  had  been  obliged  to 
conquer  it  finger  by  finger,  for  as  soon  as  he  succeeded  in 
opening  the  second  the  first  would  close,  until  at  last  the  little  re- 
sisting hand  opened  and  was  his.  Absorbed  in  the  thought  of 
that  beautiful  evening,  the  poor  disabled  soldier  (by  means  of 
an  illusion  into  which  our  fancy  often  drives  us  at  the  sight  of 
a  place  to  which  we  are  bound  by  some  tender  recollection)  for- 
got the  time  which  had  passed  since  that  evening  and  the 
present  day,  forgot  all  that  which  had  happened  meanwhile, 
— the  war,  the  wound,  the  amputated  leg  ;  the  thought  that 
within  a  short  time  he  would  see  that  girl  alone  filled  his  mind, 
quite  separated  from  the  other  sad  ones  which  usually  followed 
it  ;  the  feeling  of  a  great  joy  filled  his  soul,  intoxicated  and 
oppressed  him  ;  moved  by  an  irresistible  impulse  of  his  heart 
he  made  an  effort  to  rise  to  his  feet  without  the  aid  of  his  arms, 
and  did  so  so  violently  that  the  nerves  of  his  maimed  leg, 
pressed  strongly  against  the  wood,  were  pained  and  sent  a 
terrible  pain  shooting  up  through  his  body,  which  drew  a  cry 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  243 

from  his  lips  and,  casting  him  cruelly  back  from  the  dear 
illusion  to  the  feeling  of  sad  reality,  made  him  fall  face  down- 
ward on  the  cart,  his  hands  in  his  hair,  murmuring  disconso- 
lately and  with  a  sob  :  "  Oh,  she  will  not  wish  me  in  this  con- 
dition !  She  will  no  longer  wish  me  in  this  condition  !  " 

The  miller,  who  was  walking  beside  the  cart,  turned  and 

* 

asked  :  "  Are  you  ill  ?  "  The  soldier  replied  in  the  negative, 
quite  abruptly,  and  said  not  another  word.  The  poor  fellow 
remained  motionless  in  that  position  for  a  long  distance,  and 
it  was  better  for  him,  because  had  he  glanced  about  the  coun- 
try, at  every  step  some  fresh  recollection  would  have  been 
aroused,  and  with  it  new  pain. 

Meanwhile,  at  home  he  was  being  waited  for  by  his  relatives 
and  friends,  who,  informed  the  previous  day  of  his  expected 
arrival,  had  gathered  joyfully  at  the  paternal  home  to  receive 
him  with  love  and  honor. 

At  the  first  gleam  of  light,  his  two  old  parents  had  risen  and 
dressed  themselves  with  the  joyous  haste  of  children  who  are 
preparing  for  a  beautiful  walk  in  the  country,  and  had  begun 
wandering  around  the  house  with  hurried  steps,  opening  doors 
and  rapping  hard  on  the  pillows  of  the  sleepers,  shouting  : 
"  Wake  up  ;  out  of  bed  with  you,  boys  ! "  The  latter,  wakened 
so  suddenly,  opened  their  eyes  and  mouths,  glanced  sleepily 
around,  and  made  those  wry  faces  which  people  do  who  are 
disturbed  in  their  slumbers,  but  on  being  thoroughly  roused, 
and  remembering  the  reason  of  that  sudden  shout,  they  too 
became  gay,  mingled  their  voices  with  those  of  their  parents, 
jumped  out  of  bed,  dressed  quickly,  and  away  they  went 
through  the  house,  road,  gardens,  to  do  their  usual  work  with 
unusual  solicitude,  smiling  at  one  another,  making  signs  to 


244  MILITARY  LIFE. 

each  other  in  the  distance,  and  urging  all  to  make  haste. 
Shortly  thereafter  came  the  girl,  the  betrothed,  who  lived  near 
by  ;  she  arrived  on  a  run,  accompanied  by  two  friends,  dressed 
in  gala  costume,  with  a  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  hair,  and  quite 
red  in  the  face  :  met  the  mother,  smiled,  blushed,  threw  her- 
self into  her  arms,  and  then  breaking  suddenly  away,  and  hid- 
ing her  face  two  or  three  times  from  those  who  wanted  to 
look  into  it,  she  too  began  wandering  about  the  house  as  if  it 
were  her  own.  Then  all  together  began  dusting  and  arranging 
the  furniture  and  the  little  articles  pertaining  to  the  house, 
sticking  the  broom  into  the  remotest  corners,  moving  beds 
from  the  wall,  changing  mattresses,  folding  up  clothes-horses, 
shaking  sheets  and  counterpanes  out  of  the  windows,  dragging 
from  the  wardrobes  certain  brass  candlesticks  kept  in  reserve 
for  grand  occasions,  and  tying  boughs  and  branches  of  wild 
flowers  on  the  racks,  window-gratings,  around  pictures,  and 
above  the  doors,  so  that  at  the  first  appearance  of  the  sun  the 
house  was  as  neat,  fresh,  and  fragrant  as  a  garden,  and  the 
house-plot  smooth  and  clean  as  a  marble  floor,  without  one 
tuft  of  grass  remaining,  even  if  any  one  had  looked  for  an  hour. 
They  could  not  do  less  for  the  reception  of  a  soldier  who  was 
coming  home  wounded  from  the  war  !  Thus  said  the  good  old 
mother  to  the  other  women,  when  they  had  finished  their  work, 
moving  from  room  to  room,  and  showing  them  with  compla- 
cency the  beautiful  order  and  neatness  of  every  thing. 

Then  they  went  out  into  the  front  yard.  The  mother  re- 
mained behind,  called  the  girl  by  name,  and  as  the  latter  came 
dancing  up,  she  took  her  by  one  hand,  led  her  to  her  room, 
and  pushing  her  in  front  of  a  small  glass,  said  :  "  Look,  you 
have  spoiled  your  hair."  "  Heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl, 


THE  DISABLED  SOLDIER.  245. 

making  a  woful  face,  "how  could  it  have  happened?" 
"  There  are  twigs  hanging  from  every  side,"  replied  the  old 
woman,  "  and  you  are  running  hither  and  thither  like  a  mad 
creature,  without  looking,  or  bending  your  head ;  sit  down." 
The  girl  sat  down,  the  mother  went  behind  her,  loosened  her 
braids,  smoothed  her  hair,  and  then  taking  it  all  in  one  hand 
to  keep  it  tight,  in  order  to  part  it  with  the  other,  made  her 
bend  her  head  backward,  dropping  her  hand  little  by  little,  and 
taking  her  chin  between  her  forefinger  and  thumb,  or  touch- 
ing the  dimple  in  her  throat,  so  that  she  twisted  about  with 
that  convulsive  laugh  peculiar  to  girls  who  are  being  tickled. 
She  did  her  braids,  put  in  the  hair-pins,  passed  her  open  hands 
two  or  three  times  over  the  hair  so  that  it  should  be  smooth 
and  shining,  and  then  placing  her  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and 
looking  her  in  the  face,  she  gave  her  a  kiss,  and  moved  off,  say^ 
ing:  "Let  us  go."  The  young  girl  rose  and  followed  her, 
keeping  her  face  turned  toward  the  mirror  until  she  entered 
the  neighboring  room.  Here,  allowing  the  mother  to  go  out, 
she  raised  one  foot  gently  from  the  ground,  and  using  the  other 
as  a  pivot,  wheeled  around  twice,  and  suddenly  stopped,  threw 
back  her  head  to  look  with  charming  curiosity  at  the  skirts 
puffed  out  by  the  wind,  which  looked  like  a  dress  over  hoops. 
Then,  she  too  ran  out  into  the  house-yard. 

All  the  others  scattered  over  the  place,  some  on  the  road,  in 
front  of  the  house,  were  in  continual  motion,  as  if  their  feet 
were  scorched  when  they  kept  them  quiet  for  a  moment.  And  in 
that  continuous  wandering  about  there  never  were  two  who  met 
and  looked  at  each  other  without  exchanging  a  gay  word  or  a 
smile,  because  the  glance  of  the  one  recalled  to  the  other  the 
happiness  of  all,  and  revived  in  him  the  same  feeling.  The. 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

brother  of  the  fiancee,  in  passing,  either  gave  her  a  pinch 
in  the  arm  in  order  to  draw  forth  a  scream,  or,  coming  quietly 
up  behind  her,  seized  her  by  the  elbows  and  pressed  them 
together,  and  that  "  Get  away  with  you,  you  wretch  !  "  which 
was  his  punishment,  accompanied  by  a  menace  of  a  box  on  the 
i  ear  (which  was  never  forthcoming),  gave  him  infinite  pleasure. 
Her  friends,  drew  her  aside  from  time  to  time  to  whisper  all 
sorts  of  things  in  her  ear,  which  were  followed  by  a  burst  of 
laughter,  a  sudden  breaking  up  of  the  circle,  and  a  general 
scattering.  From  time  to  time  the  old  father,  stopping  in 
front  of  her,  said  with  a  serious  face  :  "  He  is  not  coming." 
"  Why  not  ?  Who  told  you  so  ?  "  she  asked  excitedly,  chang- 
ing color.  "  Oh  !  I  fancy  so,"  replied  the  old  man,  smiling. 
"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  she,  heaving  a  sigh  and  becoming  reas- 
sured instantly,  "you  were  joking.  He  never  has  failed  to 
keep  his  word." 

Then  turning  to  the  mother,  who  was  outside  the  gate  and 
kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  road  :  "  Mamma,"  she  asked,  "  don't 
you  see  any  one?  " 

"  I  only  see  a  cart  in  the  distance." 

The  girl  began  joking  again  with  the  old  man,  without  giving 
herself  any  anxiety  about  the  matter. 

Meanwhile  the  cart  had  come  within  three  hundred  steps  of 
the  house,  and  in  the  heart  of  the  soldier  a  strange  change  had 
taken  place.  He  did  not  seem  to  have  any  true  or  real  appre- 
ciation of  his  condition,  nor  to  know  where  he  was  going,  and 
the  memory  of  the  places  he  was  passing  seemed  to  be  fleeing 
away,  so  much  so  that  he  kept  his  eye  fixed  motionless  on  his 
home,  the  wooden  windows  and  terraces  of  which  began  to  ap- 
pear quite  distinctly,  or  he  let  them  wander  slowly  and  list- 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  247 

lessly  over  the  fields,  houses,  and  kitchen-gardens  near  the  street. 
He  approached  his  home  as  he  would  have  done  an  unknown 
place.  The  sensitiveness  of  his  heart  was  exhausted.  Such  is 
our  nature,  that  we  submit  with  entire  impassibility  and  a  spe- 
cies of  abandonment  to  the  excess  of  those  sufferings  which 
seemed  to  us  at  first  quite  insupportable.  And  for  this  reason 
that  poor  unfortunate  fellow  now  gave  all  his  attention,  with 
open  mouth  and  eyes  quite  fixed,  to  the  noise  of  the  cart,  as  if 
the  presentiment  of  the  sorrows  into  which  he  was  about  to 
cast  his  family  had  entirely  disappeared.  Now,  giving  a  blow 
with  his  hand  to  the  sack,  he  looked  astonished  at  the  white 
dust  which  flew  about ;  now  he  buckled  and  unbuckled  list- 
lessly the  straps  stretched  between  those  two  sticks  fastened  to 
the  wooden  opening  into  which  the  stump  of  the  leg  is  put 
(two  sticks  that  hold  the  leg  quite  firmly  in  its  support)  ;  now, 
seizing  a  crutch  near  the  end,  he  went  on  beating  the  handle 
lightly  on  the  end  of  his  foot.  .  .  .  But  he  had  been  feeling 
a  slight  pain  at  the  end  of  that  poor  thigh  for  some  time,  al- 
though he  had  wrapped  it  carefully  in  some  old  pieces  of  linen 
with  which  his  pockets  had  been  filled  when  he  left  the  hospi- 
tal ;  and  so,  almost  involuntarily,  he  unbuckled  the  straps  for 
the  last  time,  stretched  out  his  arm,  took  off  that  wretched  ap- 
paratus, lifted  it,  and  placed  it  at  his  side.  When  the  leg  was 
free,  the  pain  decreased. 

On  the  cart  went,  and  he,  without  giving  himself  any  other 
thought,  passed  and  repassed  his  hand  over  the  leg,  as  if  to 
soothe  the  little  pain  that  remained,  when,  on  raising  his  eyes, 
he  suddenly  changed  color,  clasped  his  hands,  gave  a  cry,  and 
remained  as  motionless  as  a  statue.  He  had  seen  the  shrine 
where  they  had  parted  ;  he  came  to  himself ;  all  the  memories 


248  MILITARY  LIFE. 

which  had  lain  dormant  for  some  time  had  been  roused  at  that 
point,  and  his  heart,  filled  suddenly  by  a  crowd  of  violent  emo- 
tions, had  given  a  terrible  bound.  He  gazed  for  a  long  time  at 
the  shrine  with  pallid  face,  dilated  eyes,  and  trembling  lips ; 
then  stretched  out  his  arms  in  a  supplicating  way  and  cried  : 
"  Oh,  Gigia  !  oh,  my  Gigia  !  "  and  fell  face  downward  on  the 
cart. 

At  that  point  a  loud  shout  reached  his  ear,  and  sent  the  blood 
rushing  from  head  to  foot.  He  raised  his  head,  looked,  seized 
his  wooden  leg,  put  the  stump  into  it,  grasped  the  straps  with 
trembling  fingers,  and  tried,  but  all  in  vain,  to  buckle  them. 
Meanwhile  the  people  were  coming  nearer,  with  open  arms  and 
lips  all  set  for  the  shout  of  joy  they  could  not  utter.  And  all 
this  time  the  poor  fellow  could  do  nothing  but  pull  at  his  leg 
like  a  madman.  .  .  .  Ah  !  here  they  are  quite  near  ;  the  mother 
first,  who,  stretching  out  her  arms  with  a  divine  smile  on  her 
face,  dropped  her  eyes,  saw,  gave  a  desperate  cry  which  came 
from  the  depths  of  her  soul,  seized  him  groaningly  around  the 
neck,  and  stood  still.  All  the  others  covered  their  faces  with 
their  hands. 

After  a  moment  he  was  on  the  ground  ;  the  straps  had  been 
fastened  without  his  knowing  it.  Let  him  go  by  himself  !  they 
all  thought  at  once.  See  him  walk  like  that  ?  Oh,  no  !  they 
must  carry  him.  Carry  him  ?  No  !  no  !  They  carry  the  dy- 
ing ;  no,  they  would  not  carry  him  !  This  thought  passed  like 
a  flash  through  their  minds.  During  that  instant  the  poor  fel- 
low had  placed  the  crutches  under  his  arms,  and  to  shorten  that 
sad  spectacle  for  his  dear  ones,  he  started  in  long  strides  tow- 
ard the  house.  All  looked  at  him — all  except  the  mother  and  the 
fiancee  ;  they  hid  their  faces  in  each  other's  bosom. 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  249 

He  entered  the  house  first ;  instantly  thereafter  all  gathered 
around  him,  took  away  his  crutches,  made  him  sit  down  near 
the  table;  he  bent  over  his  crossed  arms  and  let  his  head  rest  on 
them.  But  instantly  a  trembling  hand  was  laid  on  his  forehead; 
he  raised  his  head,  saw  a  breast  heaving  violently  before  him, 
knew  who  it  was  without  raising  his  eyes,  and  hid  his  face  on 
that  bosom.  All  about  there  was  a  great  silence,  for  they  could 
not  weep  yet. 

Suddenly  a  sob  broke  out.  The  wounded  man  detached 
himself  from  his  mother's  arms,  gave  one  glance  around  : 
"  Is  it  you  !  "  he  shouted,  his  eyes  glistening  with  tears,  as  he 
opened  his  arms.  The  young  girl  threw  herself  wildly  into 
them.  The  mother,  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  turned  to  those 
present,  made  a  sign,  and  they  all  disappeared  in  an  instant, 
she  following  them. 

The  girl  glanced  around  the  room,  and  not  seeing  any  one, 
drew  a  chair  hastily  up  to  that  of  the  soldier,  sat  down,  seized 
one  hand  with  her  left,  placed  her  right  one  on  his  shoulder, 
and  with  her  face  covered  with  tears,  and  her  chest  heaving, 
began  to  talk  quickly,  brokenly,  breathlessly,  in  an  undertone, 
giving  a  glance  at  the  door  at  every  breath,  to  see  if  any  one 
was  coming. 

"  Listen,  Carlo,  and  believe  me  ;  beHeve  me,  for  I  am  speak- 
ing right  from  my  heart,  I  love  you  better  than  ever  ;  I  will 
marry  you  more  willingly  like  this — as  you  are  now,  than 
as  if  you  were  as  you  used  to  be.  I  would  gladly  die  at 
this  moment  if  I  am  not  telling  you  honestly  just  what  I  feel, 
and  if  you — listen,  Carlo,  and  don't  cry  so  hard — if  you  do  not 
care  for  me  any  longer  I  would  come  and  beg  you,  with  clasped 
hands,  to  take  me,  to  tell  you  that  I  cannot  live  without  you  ; 


250  MI  LI  TARY  LIFE. 

so,  if  you  were  to  say  no,  I  should  grow  ill  from  sorrow.  But, 
come  now,  do  not  be  so  despairing.  If  you  had  not  returned 
from  the  war,  if  I  (here  she  pressed  her  lips  together) — if  God 
had  sent  me  the  misfortune  of  losing  you,  do  you  think  I  would 
ever  have  taken  any  one  in  your  place  ?  No  !  not  even  if  the 
king  had  come.  Now,  listen;  if  before  I  loved  you  with  all  my 
soul,  now  (saying  which  she  covered  her  face  with  her  apron 
and  began  to  weep),  now  I  would  fall  on  my  knees  before  you." 

And  she  slipped  down  from  her  chair  and  fell  on  her  knees 
before  him,  who,  quite  beside  himself  with  joy,  in  broken 
groans,  inarticulate  sounds,  and  more  with  the  animated  ex- 
pression of  face  which  bore  the  divine  imprint  of  the  thought, 
and  with  a  convulsive  movement  of  the  hands,  tried  to  say  one 
word,  only  one  word  ;  but  he  had  not  breath  enough  to  do  so, 
and  went  on  trying,  trying,  until  three  times  came  a  sonorous, 
deep,  vehement  :  "  Oh,  thanks  !  thanks  !  thanks  !  " 

Then  he  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  tried  to  raise  her. 

"  No  !  no  !  "  she  replied  in  a  resolute  tone,  in  which  one 
could  hear  all  the  force  of  her  girlish  love  ;  "  let  me  remain 
like  this,  I  wish  to  stay  so  "  ;  and,  drying  her  eyes,  she  went  on 
excitedly  : 

"  We  will  always  live  together.  I  will  not  go  to  work  in  the 
fields  any  more  ;  I  will  stay  all  day  near  you  ;  I  will  never 
leave  you  alone  for  a  moment ;  I  will  work  in  the  house  beside 
you,  just  as  we  now  are. — But  what  is  the  matter,  Carlo,  that 
you  are  crying  so  hard  ?  Tell  me — I  love  you  so  well — what 
is  the  matter? " 

"  But,"  replied  the  poor  fellow,  in  a  timid  and  trembling 
voice,  "  and  I  .  .  .  ? " 

"  And  you  ?  .  .  .  Well,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Tell 
me  every  thing,  Carlo." 


THE  DISABLED  SOLDIER.  2$  I 

But  he  could  not  go  on. 

"  And  III!  how  shall  I  work  ? "  and  he  buried  his  head  in 
his  hands,  shaking  it  in  a  disconsolate  manner. 

"  But,  Carlo,  why  do  you  talk  to  me  in  that  way  ?  Am  I  not 
yours  ?  Are  we  not  all  here  ?  I  am  very  good  at  sewing,  you 
know  that  I  don't  say  it  to  praise  myself.  And  that  lady,  you 
know,  who  lives  in  the  villa  near  here,  has  offered  me  work 
several  times,  and  I  have  always  refused  it ;  but  now — and  all 
the  more  when  she  knows  how  you  have  returned — I  will  bring 
the  work  home.  Will  that  do  ?  Then  I  will  work  beside  you, 
and  you  will  tell  me  all  you  have  seen  :  the  towns  and  places 
you  have  passed  through,  and  if  you  always  remembered  me, 
what  you  did  every  day,  if  you  had  comrades  from  this  neigh- 
borhood, and  what  you  all  talked  about." 

On  she  went  in  this  tone,  growing  more  and  more  fervent, 
always  on  her  knees  before  him,  keeping  one  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  twisting  the  buttons,  whose  numbers  had  got 
upside  down,  into  their  places  with  her  forefinger  and  thumb. 
Her  cheeks  were  suffused  with  a  brilliant  rose-color,  her  eyes 
glistening  with  a  soft  light,  and  the  words  dropped  so  warmly 
and  spontaneously  from  her  lips,  and  there  was  so  much  in- 
genuousness and  grace  in  her  gestures,  looks,  and  smiles,  in  her 
whole  person,  even  in  that  humble  position,  that  the  good  sol- 
dier looked  at  and  listened  to  her  like  one  in  ecstasy.  When  she 
had  finished  speaking,  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him  as  if  to  ask 
for  a  word  of  comfort,  and  he  gave  her  one  that  was  better 
than  any  she  could  have  desired  :  "  Oh,  Gigia  !  "  he  said,  "  you 
make  me  forget  all  my  misfortune  !  " 

"  And  I  never  will  let  you  remember  it  !  "  the  sweet  girl 
cried,  with  enthusiasm.  Then  he  put  his  arms  around  her  and 
they  both  wept  heartily. 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

The  mother's  idea  had  been  an  excellent  one. 

At  that  moment  they  heard  the  noise  of  hastening  steps  and 
the  confused  murmur  of  many  voices  coming  from  the  court- 
yard. The  young  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  moved  off  several 
paces  from  the  soldier.  Both  turned  their  eyes  in  the  direction 
from  which  the  noise  proceeded.  "  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is 
he  ?  shouted  a  voice  outside.  And  almost  at  the  same  moment 
a  young  fellow,  pale,  breathless,  and  quite  voiceless  appeared  in 
sight ;  and  hardly  had  he  seen  the  soldier  when,  with  one  spring, 
he  was  in  his  arms.  They  had  been  warm  friends  for  many 
years.  The  new-comer  was  decidedly  younger,  and  belonged 
to  the  second  division  of  the  class  of  1845,  called  that  day 
to  arms.  And  that  very  evening  the  young  man,  having 
taken  leave,  not  without  tears,  of  his  dear  ones,  was  going 
toward  the  city,  when,  in  passing  the  house  of  his  friend,  of 
whose  return  he  was  quite  ignorant,  he  had  been  called  by  the 
family,  informed  of  Carlo's  misfortune,  and  driven  fairly  into 
his  arms.  All  the  family  followed  him,  and  the  mother,  as  soon 
as  she  had  set  foot  in  the  neighboring  room,  and  given  a 
searching  glance  at  the  faces  of  the  betrothed  couple,  still  tear- 
ful, but  lighted  up  by  a  deep  joy,  had  understood  every  thing, 
been  quite  comforted,  and  while  her  son's  head  lay  in  his 
friend's  arms,  had  communicated  this  comfort,  more  by  signs 
than  words,  to  the  others. 

Finally,  the  disabled  soldier  detached  himself  from  that 
long  embrace,  made  a  sign  to  his  friend  to  .sit  down  beside 
him,  and,  having  passed  the  back  of  his  hand  over  his  eyes 
two  or  three  times,  gave  him  to  understand  that  he  had  some- 
thing to  say.  All  gathered  about  him  ;  the  mother  and  fiancee 
nearest  to  him. 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  2$ 3 

"  Keep  up  your  courage,"  he  began,  turning  to  his  friend, 
who  seemed  sad  and  disheartened  ;  "  keep  up  your  cour- 
age, comrade.  Don't  allow  yourself  to  get  melancholy.  I 
know  that  seeing  me  in  this  state  just  as  you  are  starting, 
after  taking  leave  of  your  family,  now  that  you  are  going  to  be 
a  soldier  in  time  of  war,  is  very  painful.  Don't  you  think  you 
understand  it,  poor  fellow  ?  A  fine  result  you  will  say,  from 
such  a  profession  !  But,  heavens  !  what  good  does  it  do  to 
get  disheartened  ?  You  have  to  serve  as  soldier  whether  you 
are  willing  or  not.  Well,  then,  it  is  much  better  to  take  the 
matter  quietly  and  leave  willingly.  You  will  understand  that 
too.  And  then,  then  I  will  tell  you  frankly,  that  if  I  was  des- 
tined to  have  such  a  misfortune  as  this,  either  from  falling  off 
a  cart,  or  down  the  stairs  here,  or  have  it  happen  as  it  has 
there,  I  prefer  the  latter.  It  is  natural.  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  I  am  content  in  my  present  condition  ;  but,  in  the  end, 
we  have  not  got  to  stay  in  this  world  long,  and  when  there  are 
those  who  are  fond  of  us,  that  's  all  we  care  for  ;  what  does 
the  rest  matter  ?  Do  you  suppose  my  mother,  father,  and  any 
one  else  think  the  less  of  me  ?  " 

And  he  raised  his  eyes  to  them.  The  old  parents,  clasping 
their  hands,  exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  Carlo  !  "  The  girl  gave  him 
a  long  look  of  inexpressible  tenderness. 

"  More  than  ever,"  he  went  on,  his  tone  and  face  suddenly 
becoming  quite  animated.  "And  after  this  misfortune  all  loved 
me  more  than  ever.  If  you  had  been  at  the  hospital  with  me, 
you  would  have  seen  things  which  are  hardly  to  be  credited, 
my  dear  fellow.  After  I  had  been  there  about  twenty  days, 
my  regiment  passed  through  the  city  ;  all  the  officers  of  my 
company  came  to  see  me,  and  some  others  too,  do  you  under- 


254  MILITARY  LIFE. 

stand  ?  They  gathered  around  my  bed,  and  stayed  there  for  A 
good  half  hour ;  and  there  was  the  captain,  who  looked  at  me 
and  cried,  and  another  officer,  a  young  fellow  without  any 
beard.  I  saw  the  tears  running  down  his  face.  Another  offi- 
cer (I  had  a  little  fever)  put  his  hand  on  my  forehead,  and  his 
neighbor  said  to  him  :  '  Take  it  off  ;  you  worry  him.'  They 
recommended  me  to  the  care  of  the  doctors  and  nurses,  and 
told  me  to  have  some  one  write  to  my  family,  but  without  tell- 
ing them  what  had  happened,  as  it  would  give  them  too  much 
pain.  And  every  one  of  them,  from  the  first  to  the  last,  shook 
hands  with  me  before  going  away,  and  the  youngest,  the  one 
who  commanded  the  second  squad  in  which  I  was,  seized  a 
moment  when  the  others  were  not  looking,  and  kissed  me  on 
my  forehead,  and  when  he  was  at  the  door  he  turned  and  gave 
me  one  more  salute  with  his  hand.  Do  you  understand  ?  One 
day  came  the  old  general  with  his  breast  all  covered  with  med- 
als, and  followed  by  many  officers  ;  he  approached  my  bed,  cap 
in  hand,  and  all  the  others  uncovered  their  heads  too.  He, 
the  general,  asked  me  how  I  was,  and  where  I  had  been 
wounded,  and  how  ;  and  then  when  I  had  told  him  every  thing, 
— I  seem  to  see  him  now, — he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  then 
closed  his  lips,  with  a  sigh,  and  said  :  '  Be  brave,  my  boy.' 
Then  he  grasped  my  hand,  he  who  was  a  general.  His  hand 
was  very  thin,  for  he  was  so  old.  I  would  have  kissed  it,  but 
I  was  afraid  to  seem  lacking  in  respect ;  he  seemed  to  me  like 
another  father.  Ah  !  one  must  have  been  present  on  such  occa- 
sions to  know  what  is  felt.  One  forgets  all  his  misfortunes. 
Then,  even  beforehand  .  .  .  You  will  see,  comrade  ;  it 
was  one  thing  to  talk  of  it  at  a  distance,  another  to  be  there 
on  the  spot,  right  there  in  the  midst  of  all  those  bayonets,  the 


THE  DISABLED   SOLDIER.  255 

superior  officers  ahead  with  their  swords  in  the  air,  and  the 
flags,  music,  and  all  those  shouts  ;  your  heart  fires,  your  head 
whirls,  and  the  ball  has  struck  you  while  you  are  still  shouting : 
'  Forward  !  '" 

At  that  moment  there  came  from  the  street  the  sound  of 
songs  and  the  music  of  fifes  and  shepherd's  pipes. 

"  They  are  my  companions  who  are  starting,"  shouted 
the  conscript,  springing  to  his  feet  with  a  sudden  outburst 
of  gaiety. 

The  disabled  soldier's  face  lighted  up  ;  he,  too,  rose  to  his 
feet,  supported  by  his  mother  and  fiancee,  and  begged  them  to 
lead  him  to  the  door,  saw  the  conscripts  who  were  leaving  : 
"A  pleasant  journey,  boys  ;  a  pleasant  journey!"  he  shouted. 
They  turned  toward  him,  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  leg,  under- 
stood, and  replied  in  one  voice:  "Hurrah  for  the  brave 
soldiers  ! " 

And  he  thanked  them  by  waving  his  hands  and  shaking  his 
head,  for  between  his  emotion  and  weariness  he  had  no  voice 
left. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  brave  soldiers  !  "  the  men  shouted  as  they 
moved  off. 

The  disabled  soldier  made  one  more  motion  with  his  hand 
and  head,  then,  passing  one  arm  around  the  neck  of  the  young 
girl  who  was  supporting  him  on  the  left,  he  turned  to  his  mother, 
standing  on  the  other  side,  and,  in  a  sweet  and  affectionate 
tone,  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  mother,  can  you  believe  it  ?     .     .     .     I  am  content !  " 

Then  he  let  his  head  sink  on  her  breast. 

The  eyes  of  all  present  filled  with  tears,  and  the  music  died 
away,  little  by  little,  in  the  distance  down  the  road. 


A  MEDAL. 

"  I  AM  always  obliged  to  encounter  that  cloudy  face  and  sul- 
len look  !  "  Thus  said  a  captain  to  himself,  after  having  re- 
viewed his  company.  "  But  why  is  it  ?  What  have  I  ever 
done  to  him  ? " 

He  was  thinking  of  a  soldier,  an  Abruzzese,  who  had  glanced 
doggedly  at  him  during  the  review. 

There  are  some  proud,  savage,  and  reticent  natures  in  which 
amour  propre  is  so  intense  and  gloomy  that  they  suspect  scorn 
in  every  smile,  a  snare  in  every  word,  and  an  enemy  in  every 
person.  They  are  good  and  affectionate  characters  at  the  bot- 
tom, but  appear  and  are  judged  as  proud  and  unfortunate  ones. 
They  are  souls  that  are  retiring  sheerly  from  diffidence  ;  they 
have  no  spontaneous  affections  ;  never  are  the  first  to  love ; 
but  hardly  do  they  perceive  that  they  have  inspired  a  feeling 
of  affection  when  they  return  it  with  as  much  greater  a  strength 
and  effusion  as  they  generally  display  the  contrary  qualities 
with  others.  When,  however,  they  take  an  aversion  and  be- 
come envious,  they  are  incredibly  obstinate  and  tenacious  in 
their  opinions.  Yet  they  do  not  hate  as  they  fancy  they  do. 
One  almost  always  arrives  in  time  with  a  hearty  hand-shake 
and  a  pleasant  smile,  to  dissipate  their  antipathy  (which  they 
believed  to  be  unconquerable)  and  their  rancor  (that  they  swore 
was  eternal). 

256 


A    MEDAL.  257 

Such  was  the  Abruzzi  soldier  who  looked  so  sullenly  at  his 
captain. 

The  first  day  he  joined  the  regiment  with  the  other  conscripts, 
still  wearing  their  peasant  and  working  dress,  the  captain  had 
looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  curiosity,  had  said  in  the 
ear  of  the  lieutenant :  "  Look,  what  a  forbidding  countenance  !  " 
and  then  smiled.  The  soldier  had  noticed  the  smile.  Upon 
being  taken  to  the  store-house,  he  had  put  on  the  first  coat  that 
was  given  him,  and  the  captain,  on  seeing  him,  in  passing,  so 
bundled  up,  with  a  pair  of  sleeves  which  came  down  below  his 
hands,  and  with  great  folds  that  covered  his  knee,  began  to 
laugh,  and  said  :  "  You  look  like  a  rag-bag  !  "  His  face  grew 
clouded,  and  he  gave  a  sharp  glance  at  the  captain.  Another 
time,  on  the  parade  ground,  when  the  conscripts  were  being 
taught  their  steps,  and  were  called  out  from  the  ranks  one  by 
one,  and  made  to  walk  some  distance  to  the  sound  of  a  drum, 
moving  their  legs  slowly  and  stiffly  like  marionnettes,  he  was  so 
embarrassed  when  his  turn  came  that  he  could  not  take  two 
steps  without  tottering,  stumbling,  or  making  such  grotesque 
and  laborious  motions  that  all  his  comrades  were  obliged  to 
laugh.  His  captain  arrived  at  this  point  and  scolded  him,  so 
that  he  became  worse  than  ever.  Then  the  captain,  seeing  that 
it  was  time  quite  lost,  went  off,  saying:  "You  are  the  worst 
soldier  in  the  company." 

Near  by  were  some  girls  with  children,  who  were  looking  on, 
and  they  began  to  laugh  loudly.  He  blushed  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair,  and  returned  to  his  place,  grinding  his  teeth  like  a  mad 
dog. 

So  he  became  thoroughly  convinced  that  the  captain  dis- 
liked him,  reproved  him  only  from  a  spirit  of  malice,  and  ridi- 


258  MILITARY  LIFE, 

culed  him  with  the  hateful  intention  of  enraging  and  so  ruining 
him.  But  this  was  not  true.  The  captain  was  a  fine  man  ;  he 
had  nothing  more  against  him  than  he  had  against  the  others  ; 
he  loved  his  soldiers,  was  incapable  of  a  blind  or  unjust  feeling 
of  aversion,  and  perfectly  abhorred  intentional  persecutions  or 
oppression.  Only  he  had  not  understood  the  character  of  this 
soldier.  Seeing  him  always  so  gloomy  and  sullen,  he  had  fan- 
cied him  to  be  of  a  stubborn,  ignorant,  and  sullen  nature,  and 
wished  to  conquer  him  ;  but  he  was  tractable  by  means  of 
persuasion  and  kindness,  and  not  with  menaces  and  imprison- 
ment— these  made  him  worse. 

One  day  our  soldier  stood  talking  with  a  girl  at  a  street  cor- 
ner ;  the  captain  passed,  but  the  soldier  did  not  see  him.  The 
former  fancied  he  had  pretended  not  to  see  him,  in  order  not 
to  give  the  salute,  so  he  took  him  to  task  in  the  presence  of 
the  girl  and  many  other  people  who  were  standing  about.  The 
soldier  was  so  ashamed,  that  as  soon  as  the  captain  had  gone, 
he  too  disappeared  and  was  not  seen  again.  But  his  anger 
against  the  captain  went  on  increasing,  and  became  absolute 
hatred,  continually  tormented  him,  left  him  not  a  moment's 
peace,  and  fairly  poisoned  his  life.  Nor  could  he  conceal  it, 
no  matter  how  hard  he  tried.  The  captain  reproved  the  sol- 
dier, and  the  latter  coughed  and  kicked  his  feet ;  the  captain 
turned  angrily  around,  and  he,  quite  ready,  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  at  the  clouds.  During  a  march,  if  a  soldier  was  atten- 
tive when  the  captain  wished  to  drink  and  offered  him  his 
leather  bottle,  he  sneered,  and,  drawing  that  soldier  aside, 
whispered  in  his  ear  :  "  You  imbecile  ! "  When  the  captain 
reproved  him,  he  pretended  not  to  understand,  rolled  his  eyes 
like  a  madman,  shook  his  head,  or  smiled  maliciously  with 


A   MEDAL.  259 

half-closed  eyes,  twisting  his  mouth  and  sticking  out  his  under- 
lip.  Then  there  were  always  that  surly-  glance  and  gloomy 
face. 

One  evening,  on  the  parade  ground,  while  they  were  drilling, 
a  major  reproved  the  captain  in  a  loud  voice  ;  the  latter  glanced 
hastily  around  at  his  soldiers  ;  the  soldier  laughed.  "  Canaille!  "' 
he  shouted,  blind  with  rage,  and  coming  up  to  him  planted 
both  fists  in  his  face.  The  soldier  paled,  turned  toward  his 
neighbor  and  said :  "  Some  day  or  other  (adding  a  few  words 
in  an  undertone)  ...  or  I  am  not  an  Abruzzese."  Hardly 
had  he  entered  the  barracks  and  reached  his  bed  when  he 
threw  his  bowl  and  knapsack  against  the  wall.  The  captain 
appeared  unexpectedly,  saw  him,  and  shouted  :  "  Sergeant, 
put  him  under  arrest,"  and  disappeared.  The  soldier  seized 
the  sheet  with  his  teeth  and  beat  his  head  with  his  fists. 
Three  or  four  comrades  dashed  upon  him,  seized  and  held 
him,  saying  :  "  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  What  are  you 
doing  ?  Are  you  going  mad  ?  "  Then  he  came  to  himself,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice,  with  a  gloomy  smile  :  "  Yes.  .  .  I  am 
going  mad,  and  you  will  see  one  of  these  days  what  madmen 
have  the  courage  to  do." 

There  is  a  part  of  the  valley  of  the  Tronto,  the  narrowest 
portion,  in  which  the  ridges  rise  on  both  sides  to  a  great  height, 
and  forming  gulleys,  precipices,  and  dark,  deep  ravines,  stretch 
out  their  rocky  arms  almost  to  the  river  banks.  The  valley 
at  that  point  presents  a  sad  and  gloomy  appearance.  Between 
the  water  and  these  extreme  projections,  the  ground  is  all  gravel, 
big  stones  and  enormous  rocks  precipitated  down  from  the  top 
of  the  ridges  ;  and  from  the  edge  upward,  there  is  a  labyrinth 


26O  MILITARY  LIFE. 

of  caves,  precipices,  thick  bushes,  and  mounds,  without  any 
pathways.  Several  narrow  paths  climb  up  zig-zag,  and  are  lost 
in  the  midst  of  the  great  rocks  and  thickets.  A  few  dwellings 
appear  here  and  there,  half  hidden  among  the  projections  of 
the  rocks  ;  some  bits  of  level  and  verdant  earth,  but  on  every 
other  side  there  is  only  the  rough,  wild  face  of  nature. 

It  was  a  rainy,  autumn  evening.  A  patrol  of  a  few  soldiers, 
one  behind  the  other,  were  passing  through  that  portion  of  the 
valley,  climbing,  descending,  and  winding  according  to  the  ele- 
vations of  ground  and  the  rocks  which  filled  the  small  path- 
way worn  by  the  feet  of  pedestrians  during  the  long  series  of 
years. 

A  soldier  preceded  the  patrol  by  about  forty  paces  ;  another 
followed  it  at  about  the  same  distance.  They  were  walking 
slowly  and  silently  with  lowered  heads,  their  muskets  under 
their  arms. 

Suddenly,  the  soldier  who  was  ahead,  heard  a  sound  of 
hurrying  steps,  saw  three  heads  appear  above  a  rock,  three 
gun-barrels  gleaming,  and  three  flashes,  felt  his  fatigue-cap 
taken  off,  and  heard  two  balls  whistle  to  the  right  and 
left  of  his  head.  In  an  instant  three  brigands  dashed  out 
upon  him.  He  discharged  his  musket,  and  one  of  them 
gave  a  cry  and  fell  to  the  ground:  He  rushed  upon  the 
other,  and  with  a  powerful  blow  from  his  musket  pushed  his 
carbine  aside,  and  dashed  his  bayonet  into  his  stomach.  But 
the  third,  who  was  behind,  attacked  him  before  he  could  turn 
against  him,  seized  the  musket  with  one  hand,  and  raised  a 
dagger  with  the  other.  The  soldier  abandoned  his  weapon, 
grasped  the  armed  hand  of  the  brigand  with  his  left  one, 
clasped  his  throat  with  the  right  arm,  squeezed  it  like  a  serpent, 


A   MEDAL.  26l 

and  bit  and  lacerated  his  ear  furiously.  A  horrible  shriek 
broke  from  the  assassin's  breast,  and  a  terrible  struggle  ensued. 
They  fell  and  rolled  on  the  ground,  a  false  step  and  death 
would  be  the  result  ;  in  less  than  a  minute  a  large  portion  of 
the  ground  was  covered  with  deep  tracks  ;  the  stones,  struck 
by  violent  kicks,  sprang  from  the  terrible  arena  ;  the  two  ene- 
mies clasped,  unclasped,  and  grasped  each  other  again  with  a 
marvellous  rapidity ;  they  beat  each  other  with  their  fists, 
thrusts  their  elbows  and  knees  into  each  other's  stomach  and 
chests,  snorting,  gasping,  and  shouting  with  suppressed  rage  ; 
their  eyes  horribly  dilated  and  gleaming  ;  their  foaming  and 
bleeding  mouths  opening  and  contracting  convulsively,  as  they 
gnashed  their  teeth,  so  that  those  two  faces  no  longer  retained 
any  semblance  to  humanity.  But  the  soldier  still  kept  tightly 
clasped  in  his  iron  hand  his  adversary's  fist  which  held  the 
knife.  .  .  .  Suddenly  the  brigand  fell  like  a  corpse,  beat- 
ing the  ground  about  him  wildly  ;  the  soldier  got  upon  him, 
seized  his  throat  with  both  hands,  shielded  himself  on  the  left 
with  his  bended  knee,  and  while  the  prostrate  man  wounded 
him  in  the  left  arm,  the  soldier  raised  his  head  from  the 
ground  by  extreme  force,  and  flung  it  back  against  a  stone 
with  his  entire  strength  ;  then  taking  advantage  of  the  stun 
caused  by  the  blow,  he  squeezed  the  wrist  of  the  armed  hand 
with  both  of  his.  The  aching  hand  opened,  and  in  an  instant 
the  assassin's  knife  passed  into  his  possession,  and  he  had 
driven  it  into  the  brigand's  throat.  The  icy  blade  passed 
through  the  uvula  and  broke  the  bone  of  the  palate,  the  blood 
dashed  through  the  opened  throat,  mixed  with  a  confused  rat- 
tle, which  was  his  last  utterance. 

"  Bravo  !  bravo  !  "  shouted  the  other  soldiers  as  they  came 


262  MILITARY  LIFE. 

breathlessly  up.  They  gathered  around  him  and  over- 
whelmed him  with  questions,  while  he,  motionless,  gasping, 
with  pallid  face  and  glaring  eyes,  was  gazing  now  at  the  pros- 
trate brigand,  now  at  the  bloody  knife  which  he  still  held 
tightly  clasped.  „ 

I  The  patrol  had  been  attacked  at  the  same  time  by  a  band  of 
brigands,  who  fled  as  soon  as  they  had  discharged  their  guns, 
and  the  soldiers  followed  them  for  some  distance. 

The  wounded  soldier  was  quite  well  within  a  few  days. 
The  first  time  that  the  captain  saw  him,  in  passing  in  front  of 
him  at  the  review,  he  looked  him  firmly  in  the  eye  and  said  : 
"Bravo  !  "  Instantly  thereafter  his  neighbor  whispered  in  his 
ear :  "  You  say  he  has  something  against  you  ?  He  said 
bravo  !  "  "  Oh,  he  felt  obliged  to  do  so,"  he  replied,  shaking 
his  head,  smilingly. 

Three  months  after  that  day  the  regiment  was  trans- 
ferred to  Ascoli.  A  week  had  passed  since  their  arrival,  when 
the  colonel  ordered  that  on  the  following  day  the  regiment 
should  be  in  full  uniform  to  assist  at  a  military  ceremony  in 
the  principal  square  of  the  city.  They  were  to  decorate  a  sol- 
dier with  the  medal  for  military  valor. 

"  So  soon  ? "  thought  our  captain,  when  he  received  the  col- 
onel's order.  He  instantly  ran  to  the  quartermaster-sergeant's 
room,  and  asked  anxiously  :  "  Have  you  heard  the  order  ? 
Have  you  done  every  thing  ?  "  "  Every  thing  three  days  ago," 
replied  the  quartermaster-sergeant.  "  Oh,  that  's  all  right ;  let 
us  see.  Give  me  paper,  pen,  and  inkstand  ;  I  want  to  be  quite 
sure  about  it." 

They  seated  themselves  at  the  table,  and  the  quartermaster- 
sergeant  began  tracing  on  a  scrap  of  paper  some  streets  and 


A   MEDAL.  263 

houses,  talking  all  the  time  in  a  low  voice,  and  taking  up  the 
conversation  from  time  to  time  as  if  to  explain  things  more 
clearly. 

After  a  short  time  they  both  rose,  and  the  captain,  on  going 
away,  added  :  "Third  house  to  the  right,  second  door?" 
"  Third  house  to  the  right,  second  door."  "  Are  you  quite 
sure  ?  "  The  quartermaster-sergeant  made  a  sign  as  much  as 
to  say:  "  Go  right  on,  you  cannot  mistake  it." 

An  hour  later  the  captain  was  on  horseback  on  the  road  lead- 
ing from  Ascoli  to  Acquasanta,  a  small  place  on  the  bank  of 
the  Tronto,  half  way,  I  believe,  between  Ascoli  and  Arquata. 

He  reached  Acquasanta  at  sunset.  Before  entering,  he  unbut- 
toned his  coat  to  hide  the  number  of  buttons,  and  pushed  up 
the  visor  of  his  cap.  Then  he  entered.  On  hearing  the 
sound  of  the  horse's  step,  some  people  came  to  the  doors  of 
the  first  houses,  others  approached  the  windows,  and  the  boys 
gathered  in  the  street.  The  captain  looked  uncertainly 
to  the  left  and  right,  then  moved  toward  a  door  where 
there  was  a  group  of  women,  who  drew  up  timidly  against  the 
wall  at  his  appearance,  and  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"  Who  will  give  me  a  glass  of  water,  my  good  women  ? "  said 
the  captain,  reining  in  his  horse,  and  affecting  a  careless  air. 

"  I,"  replied  one  of  the  women  quickly.  And  she  disap- 
peared. "  It  is  she,"  thought  the  captain  ;  "it  can  be  no  one 
else." 

The  woman  returned  a  moment  later  with  a  glass  of  water, 
and  handed  it  to  the  captain.  The  latter  looked  at  her  atten- 
tively, and  began  to  drink  it  in  slow  sips.  The  woman,  mean- 
while glanced  at  him  from  head  to  foot,  twisted  her  head  from 
side  to  side,  got  on  tiptoe  in  order  to  discover  the  number  of 


264  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

his  regiment,  twisted  her  hands,  swayed  backward  and  forward, 
was  not  quiet  one  moment,  and  by  her  fixed  and  excited  look, 
and  the  rapid  movements  of  her  mouth,  she  showed  a  timid  and 
anxious  content,  an  irrepressible  desire,  which  she  did  not  know 
how  to  gratify.  The  captain  watched  her  closely. 

"  Is  there  no  one  among  you  women  who  has  a  soldier  son  ? " 
he  asked,  with  apparent  indifference,  as  he  handed  back  the 
glass. 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  woman  who  had  brought  him  the  water. 
"  I  have  one  !  "  and  she  made  a  sign  with  her  thumb,  and 
stopped  to  wait  for  his  reply,  as  immovable  as  a  statue. 

"  In  what  regiment  ?  " 

The  woman  told  the  regiment,  and  added  hastily  :  "  Where 
is  this  regiment,  Mr.  Colonel  ?  Do  you  chance  to  know  my 
son  ?  Have  you  seen  him  anywhere  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Oh,  no — but  how  is  it  that  you  do  not  know  where  he 
is?" 

"  Well  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  looking  very  serious,  cross- 
ing and  then  letting  her  hands  fall  idly,  "  it  is  two  years  since  I 
have  seen  him.  A  month  ago  he  was  not  very  far  from  here  ; 
he  was  fighting  the  brigands,  poor  fellow,  and  he  wrote  me  ;  but 
since  then  I  have  heard  nothing,  and  he  has  never  sent  me 
another  letter.  Oh,  he  may  have  sent  one,  but  it  has  not  ar- 
rived. Those  gentlemen  who  ought  to  forward  the  letters,  who 
know.s  what  they  have  done  with  them  !  (And  she  grew  more 
and  more  excited,  and  uttered  each  word  with  an  increasing 
expression  of  sorrow  and  scorn.)  The  letters  of  poor  people 
are  known  to  those  gentlemen  by  the  writing,  and  they  throw 
them  into  a  corner.  I  know  how  things  go.  Those  poor  fellows 
write,  and  their  families  receive  nothing.  But  the  officers  who  are 


A    MEDAL.  265 

in  command  ought  to  look  after  these  affairs  ;  you  must  excuse 
me,  Mr.  Colonel,  I  don't  say  it  of  you  ;  but  it  does  n't  seem  just 
to  me.  We  poor  women  pass  entire  months  without  knowing 
any  thing  of  our  sons,  and  we  are  always  anxious,  and  my 
friends  here  can  tell  you  so,  for  they  see  me  every  day  and 
know  what  a  life  I  have  been  leading  for  some  time, — my  heart- 
aches, fears,  and  the  pain  I  have  suffered  on  account  of  that 
poor  boy.  There  are  moments  in  which  I  really  cannot  bear  it 
any  longer.  Oh,  no,  no,  let  me  finish,  Mr.  Colonel,  it  is  not 
just !  "  Saying  which  she  covered  her  face  with  her  apron,  and 
began  to  weep. 

All  the  other  women  assented  by  word  and  gesture  ;  the  cap- 
tain was  silent. 

"  Look  here,  my  good  woman  !  "  he  then  said  suddenly. 
The  woman  uncovered  her  tear-stained  face,  and  glanced  at 
him. 

"  Look  ! "  repeated  the  captain,  taking  off  his  cap  and 
handing  it  to  her.  She  took  it  with  a  stupid  expression  of  face, 
looked  at  it  top  and  bottom,  glanced  around  at  her  friends  as 
if  to  question  them,  then  stared  fixedly  at  the  captain,  as  if 
to  show  him  that  she  had  not  understood. 

The  captain  laughed. 

"  Is  there  nothing  which  interests  you  in  this  cap  ?  " 

The  woman  began  examining  it  again,  and  uttered  a  cry  : 
"Ah  !  it  is  the  number  of  the  regiment — my  son's  regiment  !  " 
and  seizing  the  cap  with  both  hands  she  kissed  and  rekissed  it 
impetuously,  and  in  a  moment  overwhelmed  the  captain  with  so 
many  questions,  prayers,  demonstrations  of  gratitude,  joy,  and 
affection,  that  he  was  overcome,  and  was  obliged  to  wait,  in 
order  to  reply  one  word,  until  this  outburst  had  quite  ex- 
hausted her  strength  and  choked  her  voice. 


266  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  To-morrow  you  will  see  your  son,"  he  then  said.  "  He  is 
at  Ascoli,  and  is  expecting  you." 

The  good  woman  sprang  forward  to  kiss  his  hand  ;  he  drew 
it  back.  .  .  .  Half  an  hour  later  he  started  for  the  city. 
He  had  talked  for  a  long  time  with  that  poor  woman,  but  had 
said  nothing  of  the  gold  medal. 

Scarcely  had  he  reached  Ascoli  and  entered  his  house  when 
he  called  the  orderly,  and  uttering  each  syllable  distinctly,  and 
accenting  each  word  with  his  hand,  he  talked  for  some  time, 
while  the  other  listened  with  wide-stretched  eyes  and  mouth. 
"  Have  you  understood  ? "  he  said  at  last.  "  Yes,  sir."  "  You 
will  do  every  thing  carefully  ?"  "  Rest  assured  of  that."  "  I 
depend  upon  you."  And  he  went  out.  The  orderly  followed 
him  with  his  eyes  as  far  as  the  door,  stood  meditating  for  a 
moment,  then  sticking  his  hand  into  a  boot  and  seizing  the 
brush  with  the  other  he  began  blacking  it  with  all  his  might, 
murmuring  as  he  did  so  :  "  You  are  a  good  mar;  ;  you  deserve 
a  premium  ;  to-morrow  morning  your  boots  shall  shine  more 
brightly  than  any  in  the  regiment." 

The  following  morning,  about  eight  o'clock,  the  orderly, 
standing  at  the  corner  of  a  street  which  opened  on  the  princi- 
pal square  of  the  city,  saw  an  old  peasant  woman,  in  gala  dress, 
with  two  great  hoops  in  her  ears,  a  beautiful  string  of  coral 
around  her  neck,  and  her  skirt  speckled  with  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow,  coming  slowly  forward.  As  she  approached  she 
glanced  around  her  with  a  mingled  expression  of  curiosity, 
astonishment,  and  gaiety.  He  watched  her  carefully,  and  then 
approached  her. 

"  My  good  woman  !  " 

"Oh,  are  you  the  soldier  the  captain  told  me  about  ?" 


A    MEDAL.  267 

"  Yes,  exactly." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  thank  you  !  And  my  son  ?  Is  n't  he  here  ? 
Where  is  he  ?  Why  did  n't  he  come  to  meet  me?  Tell  me 
instantly  where  he  is,  my  good  fellow.  Take  me  right  to  him." 

"  Ah  !  one  moment ;  you  must  have  a  little  patience  ;  you 
cannot  see  him  immediately.  You  must  wait  about  half  an 
hour.  You  must  remain  here  and  see  a  certain  parade  that  the 
regiment  is  going  through  They  are  to  give  a  medal  for 
military  valor  to  one  of  my  comrades  ;  it  is  only  an  affair  of  a 
few  moments,  and  you  must  be  patient." 

"  A  half  hour  more  !  Oh,  heavens  !  how  can  I  wait  for  a 
half  hour? " 

"  I  understand,  my  good  woman  ;  a  half  hour  will  seem  like 
half  a  century  to  you  ;  but  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done,  so 
you  must  wait.  We  will  chat  a  little,  and  the  time  will  pass 
quickly." 

"  Oh,  heavens  !  a  half  hour  !  But  tell  me,  tell  me,  are  the 
soldiers  to  come  into  this  square  ?  " 

"  Yes,  right  into  this  square  from  that  side — look  !  " 

"But  then  I  shall  see  him  instantly,  and  I  can  go  and 
speak  to  him." 

"  No,  you  cannot,  my  dear  woman." 

"  But  it  is  two  years  since  I  have  seen  him." 

"  I  know  ;  but  no  one  can  speak  to  a  soldier  when  he  is  in 
line  ;  you  ought  to  know  that  too  ;  the  regulations  are  clear 
enough  ;  the  colonel  commands  here,  my  good  woman  ;  the 
mothers  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  ;  and  even  if  the 
colonel's  mother  should  come,  she,  too,  would  have  to  be  patient 
and  stand  on  one  side  and  wait.  You  must  understand  that 
women  have  not  made  the  regulations." 


268  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  I  do  understand  ;  but    \     .     .  " 

At  that  moment  they  heard  the  distant  sound  of  drums,  and 
all  the  people  who  were  in  the  square  turned  in  that  direction. 
"  Here  is  the  regiment,"  said  the  soldier.  The  old  woman  felt 
her  heart  throbbing  wildly,  stood  quite  perplexed  for  a  moment, 
and  then  suddenly  tried  to  dash  toward  the  regiment.  "  Wait ! " 
shouted  the  soldier,  seizing  her  by  the  arm,  and  making  a  mo- 
tion with  his  hand  to  keep  her  quiet.  "  Wait ;  do  me  that 
favor  ;  if  he  sees  you  we  shall  get  into  trouble.  Do  you  wish 
to  have  him  put  in  prison  ?  It  does  n't  take  much  to  do  so. 
If  he  should  turn  his  head  to  the  left  when  he  ought  to  turn  it 
to  the  right." 

"  That 's  true  !  "  murmured  the  woman,  and  she  controlled 
herself. 

"  You  will  only  have  to  wait  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ;  that 's 
not  much,  when  you  have  waited  two  years." 

The  woman  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  sighed,  and  then  fixed 
them  motionless  on  the  opening  of  the  street  where  the  regi- 
ment was  to  appear. 

The  roll  of  the  drums  approaches  ;  the  crowd  divides  into 
two  wings ;  here  are  the  sappers,  the  drummers,  the  band,  the 
colonel  on  horseback. 

"  And  the  soldiers  ?  "  asked  the  old  woman  anxiously. 

"  One  moment.  There  are  only  about  ten  paces  between 
the  colonel  and  the  soldiers.  Here  they  are  !  " 

The  woman  dashed  forward  again,  and  once  more  the  sol- 
dier held  her  back.  "  Oh,  for  heaven's  sake  do  be  sensible  ! 
Do  you  want  him  to  be  thrust  into  prison  at  any  cost  ?  " 

The  regiment  is  drawn  up  in  line. 

"  I  have  seen  him !  I  have  seen  him  !  "  shouted  the  old 
woman,  clapping  her  hands,  "  Look  at  him  !  " 


A   MEDAL.  269 

"  Where  ?  "     The  woman  pointed. 

"  No  ;  that  's  not  he.  You  are  mistaken,  I  assure  you. 
You  could  not  recognize  him  from  here  ;  we  are  too  far 
away." 

"  Then  that  other  one." 

"  Which  one  ?  "     The  woman  pointed  again. 

"  But  no,  I  tell  you,  that  is  n't  he  ;  it  is  impossible  for  you  to 
see  him  ;  he  is  in  the  second  line." 

"  In  the  second  line  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  second  line  ? " 

"  Behind  the  others." 

"  Oh,  holy  patience  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  as  she  passed 
her  hand  over  her  brow  and  sighed,  "  what  are  they  doing 
now  ? " 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  The  colonel  has  placed  himself  in  front 
of  the  regiment  in  order  to  make  a  speech.  Before  giving  the 
medal  to  the  soldier  they  generally  make  a  speech,  in  which 
they  relate  the  circumstance,  and  tell  the  other  soldiers  to  fol- 
low the  example  of  their  companion,  who  is  a  brave  soldier, 
has  done  his  duty,  and  has  done  honor  to  his  regiment,  and 
so  forth." 

"  I  don't  hear  any  thing.     What  is  he  saying  ? " 

l<  This  is  the  story  :  The  soldier  who  is  to  receive  the 
medal  was  one  day  attacked  by  three  brigands,  all  of  whom 
fired  on  him  at  once.  He  was  not  hit,  and  did  not  get  fright- 
ened ;  he  discharged  his  musket  at  one  of  the  assassins,  and 
killed  him  ;  then  planted  his  bayonet  in  the  stomach  of  the 
other  ;  and  took  away  the  knife  from  the  third  and  cut  his 
throat." 


2/0  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  " 

"  Was  n't  that  a  fine  deed  ? " 

"  Have  they  given  him  the  medal  ?  " 

"They  are  doing  so  now." 

"  He  will  be  happy,  poor  young  fellow  !  " 

"  I  should  think  so  ;  his  comrades  are  so  fond  of  him ;  his 
superiors  treat  him  like  a  son  ;  all  respect  and  esteem  him ;  and 
he  deserves  it,  he  really  deserves  it  ;  he  is  one  of  the  best 
soldiers  in  the  regiment  ;  there  are  few  like  him,  I  can  tell 
you." 

"  But  where  is  this  soldier  ? " 

"In  a  moment  the  colonel  will  call  him  out  of  the  line." 

The  colonel  ceased  speaking. 

"  Look  !  look  ! "  the  orderly  suddenly  exclaimed,  turning 
the  woman  away  from  the  regiment  and  pointing  to  the  win- 
dows in  front.  "  Look  how  many  people  are  at  the  windows  ! 
In  a  moment  they  will  all  clap  their  hands." 

Meanwhile  the  soldier  had  stepped  out  of  the  line,  come  to 
the  colonel's  side,  facing  the  regiment,  so  that  the  woman  in 
turning  toward  the  soldiers,  could  not  see  his  face. 

"  Is  that  the  soldier  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  are  they  doing  now  ? " 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  The  colonel  is  putting  the  medal  on  his 
breast." 

"  Oh,  holy  Virgin  !  how  my  heart  beats  for  him.  How 
happy  he  must  be,  poor  fellow  !  Now  what  are  they  doing  ?  " 

"  Now  the  regiment  is  going  to  present  arms." 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  the  woman  in  astonishment. 

"Certainly." 


A    MEDAL.  2/1 

"  Oh,  what  an  honor !  "  exclaimed  the  good  old  woman, 
clasping  her  hands  and  remaining  motionless  in  that  position, 
her  eyes  gleaming  with  a  very  beautiful  smile,  a  mixture  of 
content,  marvel,  and  affection. 

The  colonel  turned  toward  the  regiment,  and  in  a  loud, 
senorous,  vibratory  voice,  which  echoed  through  the  square, 
shouted  : 

"  Present  arms  !  " 

The  woman  felt  a  shiver  run  from  head  to  foot,  drew  close 
to  the  soldier  and  seized  him  as  if  she  were  afraid. 

At  the  colonel's  shout  the  four  majors  of  the  regiment  each 
turned  to  his  battalion  and  repeated  the  command  in  a  power- 
ful voice. 

Almost  instantaneously,  as  if  moved  by  a  single  arm,  did  the 
twelve  hundred  muskets  rise,  gleaming  from  the  ground,  and 
resound  when  hit  by  the  twelve  hundred  hands.  All  faces 
were  motionless,  and  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  soldier's  face. 
The  officers  saluted  with  their  swords.  The  crowd  broke  out 
in  a  burst  of  applause,  and  the  band  began  to  play. 

"  But  who  is  this  soldier  ? "  asked  the  poor  mother,  aston- 
ished, moved,  and  fascinated  by  that  stupendous  spectacle. 

The  orderly  turned,  looked  at  her,  opened  his  mouth,  uttered 
some  inarticulate  sound,  glanced  at  the  soldier,  and  turned 
again  to  the  woman. 

The  band  continued  playing,  the  regiment  was  still  motion- 
less. 

"  It  is  your  son  !  "  the  orderly  shouted. 

The  old  woman  uttered  a  cry,  stood  immovable  for  a 
moment,  with  wide-stretched  eyes  and  mouth,  dashed  her 
hands  into  her  white  hair,  smiled,  groaned,  and  sobbed ;  that 


2/2  MILITARY  LIFE. 

applause  and  that  music  resounded  in  the  depths  of  her  heart 
like  a  harmony  from  paradise ;  the  thousand  gleaming  muskets 
all  grew  confused  into  a  single  torrent  of  light,  her  mind  be- 
came suddenly  confused,  her  eyes  veiled,  she  tottered  .  .  . 
and  was  upheld. 

When  she  came  to  herself,  the  regiment  had  disappeared  ; 
her  son  was  clinging  to  her  neck,  and  the  two  hearts  were  so 
closely  pressed  against  each  other  that  there  was  hardly  place 
for  the  silver  medal  between  them.  They  remained  in  this  posi- 
tion for  some  time. 

"  But  how,"  were  the  first  words  of  the  son,  as  soon  as  he 
was  released  from  that  embrace,  "  how  did  you  know  that  I 
was  here  ?  Who  told  you  ?  How  did  you  happen  to  get  here 
on  this  day,  and  just  at  this  hour  ?  " 

The  woman  told  him  breathlessly,  that  the  previous  day  an 
officer  on  horseback  had  arrived  in  her  town,  stopped  at  her 
door,  told  her  where  her  son  was,  offered  her  money  so  that 
she  could  come  to  the  city  in  a  carriage,  had  given  her  the 
money,  and  she  had  come,  and  found  the  soldier  who  was 
waiting,  at  the  officer's  orders,  for  her. 

"Where  is  the  soldier?  "  asked  her  son.  They  both  looked 
around  ;  the  orderly  had  disappeared. 

"  Now  I  understand,  look  !  "  said  the  woman.  "  Now  I 
understand  why  the  officer  wished  me  to  come  this  morning  ; 
he  wanted  me  to  see  ..." 

She  looked  at  her  son  and  embraced  him. 

"  He  wished  me  to  see  every  thing,  and  so  told  me  nothing, 
in  order  to  give  me  a  surprise  ;  and  the  soldier  was  in  the  plot. 
What  a  good  man  !  But  how  did  he  learn  where  I  live  ?  And 
what  interest  could  he  have  in  giving  me  this  pleasure,  when 
he  did  not  even  know  me  !  Tell  me,  my  son  !  " 


A    MEDAL.  273 

The  son  was  thinking  busily. 

"  But  where  is  the  officer  !  this  man  ?  I  want  to  see  him  ;  I 
want  to  kiss  his  clothes.  I  owe  him  my  life.  I  want  to  go  to 
him,  my  son.  Take  me  to  him." 

"  Immediately  !  "  exclaimed  the  soldier,  coming  back  from 
the  thoughts  in  which  he  had  been  absorbed. 

He  took  his  mother  by  the  hand,  and  they  hastily  crossed 
the  square,  entered  the  street  where  the  barracks  were,  stopped 
twenty  paces  from  the  door,  at  which  almost  all  the  officers 
were  gathered  while  waiting  for  the  report,  and  the  old  woman 
began  to  seek  eagerly  with  her  eyes,  the  soldier  helping  her  by 
motions  and  words  ;  he,  too,  searching  from  instinct,  without 
knowing  whom  he  wished  to  find. 

"  Who  is  he  ?     Have  you  seen  him  ?     Point  him  out  !  " 

"  I  have  not  found  him  yet." 

"  Look  !     Look  !  " 

"  That  one  there  ;  that  one  leaning  against  the  wall.  .  .  . 
No,  no,  I  am  mistaken  ;  it  is  n't  that  one.  That  other, — the 
one  who  is  lighting  a  cigar.  Wait  till  he  turns.  Wait — no,  it 
is  n't  he." 

"  But  who  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  there  he  is  !  This  time  I  am  sure.  It  is  the  one 
who  has  placed  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  man  standing 
near  him." 

"  What  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  he." 

"  Mother ! " 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Really  ?  Are  you  not  mistaken  ?  Are  you  really  sure  ? " 
shouted  the  soldier,  seizing  his  mother's  hand. 


2/4  MILITAR  Y  LIFE, 

"  As  sure  as  I  am  of  the  light  of  day." 

The  soldier  fastened  his  eyes  on  the  captain,  and  stood  look- 
ing at  him  motionless. 

Meanwhile,  the  mother,  whose  heart  and  head  were  with  her 
son,  rather  than  with  the  captain,  pulled  him  by  his  clothes, 
and  taking  the  medal  between  her  first  finger  and  thumb,  drew 
it  closer  to  her  face,  looked  attentively  at  it,  and  said  smilingly 
to  the  soldier,  who  still  stood  motionless  looking  at  the  captain: 

"  I  would  wager  that,  after  your  mother,  this  is  the  dearest 
thing  in  the  world  to  you."  And  she  raised  the  medal  the  en- 
tire length  of  the  ribbon. 

"  No,"  replied  her  son,  without  turning. 

"  No  !  Well,  what  is  the  dearest  thing  in  this  world  after 
your  mother?"  asked  the  woman  with  an  affectionate  smile. 

The  soldier  raised  his  arm,  and  pointing  to  the  captain, 
replied  : 

"  That  man  there  !  " 


AN  ORIGINAL  ORDERLY. 


OF  all  the  original  beings  under  the  vault  of  heaven — and  I 
can  boast  I  have  known  many — there  certainly  is  none  who  can 
compare  with  this  one. 

He  was  from  Sardinia,  a  peasant  of  twenty,  ignorant  of  the 
alphabet,  and  a  soldier  in  the  infantry. 

The  first  time  he  appeared  before  me,  at  Florence,  in  the 
office  of  a  military  journal,  he  inspired  me  with  sympathy. 
His  appearance,  however,  and  several  of  his  replies,  showed  me 
instantly  that  he  was  indeed  an  original.  Seen  in  front,  he  was 
himself ;  seen  in  profile,  he  was  quite  another.  One  would 
have  said  that  his  features  changed  in  turning.  From  the  front 
view  there  was  nothing  to  say ;  the  face  was  like  many  others ; 
but  his  profile  made  one  laugh.  The  point  of  the  chin  and  the 
end  of  the  nose  tried  to  touch  and  did  not  succeed,  impeded 
by  two  enormous  lips  that  were  always  open,  and  which  allowed 
one  to  see  two  rows  of  teeth  scattered  like  a  platoon  of  national 
guards.  The  eyes  resembled  pin-heads,  so  small  were  they, 
and  they  almost  disappeared  between  the  wrinkles  when  he 
laughed.  The  eyebrows  formed  two  circumflex  accents,  and 
the  forehead  was  only  high  enough  to  separate  the  hair  from 
the  eyes.  A  friend  said  to  me  that  he  seemed  like  a  man  made 
for  a  joke.  He  had,  however,  a  face  that  expressed  intelli- 
gence and  goodness  ;  but  an  intelligence,  if  one  may  so  express 

275 


2^6  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

himself,  which  was  partial  only,  and  a  goodness  sui  generis. 
He  spoke,  in  a  sharp,  hoarse  voice,  an  Italian  for  which 
he  could  have  demanded  with  perfect  right  the  patent  of 
invention. 

"  How  does  Florence  please  you  ? "  I  asked,  because  he  had 
only  arrived  in  town  the  day  before. 

"It  's  not  bad,"  he  replied. 

For  a  person  who  had  only  seen  Cagliari  and  some  small 
cities  in  Northern  Italy,  the  reply  seemed  a  trifle  severe  to 
me. 

"Do  you  like  Florence  or  Bergamo  better?" 

"I. only  arrived  yesterday,  and  cannot  judge  yet." 

When  he  went  away  I  said  :  "  Adieu  "  ;  and  he  replied  : 
"Adieu." 

The  following  day  he  entered  my  service.  During  the  first 
few  days  I  was  several  times  on  the  point  of  losing  my  patience 
and  sending  him  back  to  his  regiment.  Had  he  contented 
himself  with  understanding  nothing,  transeat  j  but  the  trouble 
was  that  his  difficulty  in  understanding  Italian,  and  the  novelty 
of  every  thing,  made  him  half  comprehend  things  and  do  every 
thing  wrong.  If  I  should  say  that  he  took  my  razors  to  be 
ground  at  Lemonnier's  and  my  manuscripts  to  be  printed  at  the 
knife-grinder's  ;  that  he  carried  a  French  novel  to  the  shoe- 
maker and  a  pair  of  boots  to  a  lady's  house,  no  one  would  be- 
lieve me  ;  because,  in  order  to  credit  it,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
have  seen  to  what  a  point  (beside  undestanding  badly)  he  car- 
ried affairs,  the  mere  misunderstanding  not  sufficing  to  account 
for  such  huge  blunders.  But  I  cannot  refrain  from  citing 
some  of  the  most  marvellous  of  his  exploits. 

At  eleven  in  the  morning  I  sent  him  to  buy  ham  for  break- 


AN  ORIGINAL   ORDERLY.  277 

* 
fast,  and  it  was  the  hour  at  which  the  Corriere  Italiano  was 

cried  through  the  streets.  One  morning,  knowing  that  there 
was  some  news  I  wished  to  see  in  the  paper,  I  said  to  him  : 
"Quick,  now — ham  and  the  Corriere  Italiano."  He  never 
could  seize  two  ideas  at  a  time.  He  went  out  and  returned  a 
moment  later  with  the  ham  wrapped  up  in  the  Corriere. 

One  morning  I  was  turning  over  in  his  presence  and  that  of 
a  friend,  a  beautiful  military  map  that  had  been  lent  me  from 
the  library,  and  I  said  :  "  The  trouble  is,  you  understand,  that 
I  cannot  see  all  these  maps  at  a  glance,  and  am  obliged  to  look 
at  them  one  by  one.  To  get  a  clear  idea  of  the  battle  I  should 
like  to  see  them  all  nailed  on  to  the  wall  in  a  row,  so  that  they 
would  form  one  picture."  That  evening  when  I  entered  the 
house — I  shudder  to  think  of  it — every  map  in  the  collection 
was  nailed  to  the  wall,  and  to  make  matters  worse,  the  fol- 
lowing morning  I  was  obliged  to  see  him  appear  with  the 
modest,  smiling  face  of  a  man  who  is  expecting  a  compliment. 

Another  morning  I  sent  him  to  buy  two  eggs  to  cook  in 
spirits.  While  he  was  out,  a  friend  came  to  talk  about  a  very 
important  affair  with  me.  That  unfortunate  wretch  returned. 
I  said  :  "  Wait  !  "  He  seated  himself  in  a  corner,  and  I  con- 
tinued to  talk  with  my  friend.  After  a  moment  I  saw  the  sol- 
dier turn  red,  white,  and  green,  and  seem  to  be  on  thorns  about 
something,  so  that  he  hardly  knew  where  to  hide  his  face.  I 
dropped  my  eyes  and  saw  a  leg  of  the  chair  slightly  streaked 
with  gold  color,  which  I  had  never  seen.  I  approached  ;  it 
was  the  yolk  of  an  egg.  The  wretch  had  put  the  eggs  in  the 
back  pockets  of  his  jacket,  and  on  entering  the  house  had 
seated  himself  without  remembering  that  my  breakfast  was 
under  him. 


2?8  MILITARY  LIFE, 

These,  however,  are  roses  in  comparison  to  what  I  was 
obliged  to  see  before  having  trained  him  to  put  my  room  in 
order,  I  do  not  say,  as  I  wished  it,  but  in  a  manner  that  would 
indistinctly  reveal  at  least  the  rational  being.  For  him  the 
highest  art  in  putting  things  in  order  consisted  in  arranging 
I  them  in  architectural  style  one  above  the  other  ;  and  his  great- 
est ambition  was  to  construct  the  tallest  edifice  possible.  Dur- 
ing the  first  few  days  my  books  formed  a  semicircle  of  towers 
which  tottered  at  the  slightest  breath  ;  the  wash-bowl,  turned 
upside  down,  upheld  a  bold  pyramid  of  little  dishes  and  vases, 
on  the  top  of  which  my  shaving-brush  rose  proudly  ;  old  and 
new  high  hats  reared  themselves  in  the  form  of  a  triumphal 
column  to  a  dizzy  height.  So  that  often  in  the  dead  of  night 
there  occurred  noisy  overturns  and  tremendous  scatterings  of  my 
property,  which  were  only  restrained  by  the  walls  of  the  room 
from  going  on  no  one  knows  where.  In  order  to  make  him 
comprehend  that  the  tooth-brush  did  not  belong  to  the  family 
of  those  intended  for  the  head,  that  the  jar  of  pomade  was 
quite  different  from  that  of  the  extract  of  beef,  and  that  the 
commode  was  not  designed  as  a  receptacle  of  freshly  ironed 
shirts,  required  the  eloquence  of  a  Cicero  and  the  patience  of 
a  Job. 

Whether  he  were  grateful  for  my  kindness  to  him,  or 
felt  the  slighest  affection  for  me,  I  have  never  been  able  to 
learn.  Once  only  did  he  display  a  certain  solicitude  about  my 
person,  and  that  in  a  very  strange  manner.  I  was  in  bed,  hav- 
ing been  ill  for  fifteen  days,  and  growing  neither  better  nor 
worse.  One  evening  he  stopped  on  the  stairs  my  physician, 
who  was  a  very  grave  man,  and  asked  him  brusquely :  "  Well, 
now,  are  you  going  to  cure  him,  or  are  you  not  ?  "  The  doc- 


AN  ORIGINAL    ORDERLY.  279 

tor  was  furious,  and  gave  him  a  regular  wigging.  "  It  is  only 
that  the  thing  has  been  going  on  rather  long  already,"  he  mum- 
bled in  reply. 

At  other  times  he  had  tricks  at  which  I  laughed  instead  of 
reproving  him  for  them,  as  I  ought  to  have  done.  One 
morning  he  waked  me  by  whispering  in  my  ear  in  a  curious 
tone  of  voice:  "Lieutenant,  he  who  sleeps  catches  no  fish." 

One  day  he  entered  the  house  just  as  an  illustrious  person 
was  leaving  it,  and  heard  me  say  to  the  friend  who  was  with 
me,  that  that  personage  was  a  "  very  conspicuous  personality" 
A  fortnight  later,  while  I  was  talking  with  several  friends,  he 
appeared  at  the  door  of  my  room  and  announced  a  visitor. 
"Who  is  it?"  I  asked.  "It  is  (he  did  not  remember  the 
name)  that  very  conspicuous  personality"  he  replied.  All  burst 
out  laughing  ;  the  gentleman  in  question  heard  ;  I  explained 
matters,  and  he  joined  heartily  in  our  merriment. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  give  an  idea  of  the  language  this  cu- 
rious subject  spoke  :  it  was  a  mixture  of  Sardinian,  Lombar- 
dian,  and  Italian,  all  chopped  phrases  and  abbreviated  words, 
an  infinite  number  of  verbs  thrown  here  and  there  or  left  in 
the  air,  so  that  they  produced  the  effect  of  a  speech  by  a  per- 
son in  delirium.  One  day  a  friend  came  to  see  me  at  the  din- 
ner-hour, and  on  entering  the  house  asked  :  "  At  what  point  of 
his  dinner  is  your  master?"  "He  is  trembling,"  replied  the 
soldier.  My  friend  stood  open-mouthed  with  astonishment. 
That  trembling  meant  terminating  (finishing). 

In  five  or  six  months,  in  attending  the  regimental  schools, 
he  had  learned  to  read  and  write  with  difficulty.  It  was  my 
misfortune.  While  I  was  away  from  home,  he  practised  his 
penmanship  on  my  table,  and  used  to  write  one  or  two  hun- 


2 80  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

dred  times  the  very  same  word,  generally  a  word  that  he  had 
heard  me  read  and  which  had  made  an  impression  upon  him. 
One  morning,  for  instance,  he  was  struck  by  the  name  Ver- 
cingetorige.  That  evening,  on  entering  the  house,  I  found 
Vercingetorige  written  on  the  margins  of  the  newspapers,  on 
the  backs  of  my  proofs,  on  the  bindings  of  the  books,  on  the 
envelopes  of  letters,  on  the  paper  in  the  waste-basket, — every 
where  that  he  found  space  enough  for  the  fourteen  letters  so 
dear  to  his  heart.  Another  time  the  word  ostrogoth  appealed 
to  him,  and  the  day  after  my  house  was  invaded  by  ostrogoths. 
One  day  the  word  rhinoceros  fascinated  him,  and  the  follow- 
ing morning  my  house  was  filled  with  rhinoceroses.  I  gained, 
however,  on  another  side,  and  it  was  in  being  able  to  abandon 
the  use  of  crosses  made  with  various  colored  pencils  on  the 
letters  which  he  had  to  carry  to  certain  persons,  because  it 
was  useless  to  try  and  make  him  remember  names,  instead  of 
which  he  would  say  :  "  This  letter  is  going  to  the  blue  lady 
(demi-monde),  this  to  the  black  journalist  (who  was  red),  and 
this  to  the  yellow  employes  (who  was  al  verde,  meaning  short  of 
funds). 

But  while  speaking  of  his  writing,  I  discovered  something 
more  curious  than  any  thing  I  have  yet  cited.  He  had  pur- 
chased a  copy-book,  in  which  he  made  extracts  from  all  the 
books  that  came  into  his  hand,  the  dedication  of  authors  to 
their  parents,  always  taking  care  to  substitute  for  the  latter  the 
name  of  his  father,  mother,  or  brother,  to  whom  he  fancied  he 
was  thus  giving  a  splendid  token  of  his  affection  and  gratitude. 
One  day  I  opened  this  book  and  read,  among  others,  the  fol- 
lowing dedications  :  Pietro  Tranci  (his  father,  a  peasant), 
Born  in  poverty,  Was  enabled  with  study  and  perseverance  to 


AN  ORIGINAL    ORDERLY.  28 1 

Acquire  a  high  position  among  servantes,  and  Succor  parents  and 
brothers,  and  Worthily  educate  his  children.  To  the  memory  of 
his  excellent  father  is  This  book  dedicated  by  The  author 
Antonio  Tranci,  instead  of  Michael  Lessona.  On  another  page  : 
To  Pietro  Tranci  my  Father  Who  in  announcing  to  the  Subal- 
pine  Parliament  The  disaster  of  Novara  Fell  fainting  to  the 
floor,  And  died  within  a  few  days  I  Consecrate  this  Poem,  etc. 
Farther  down  :  At  Cagliari  (instead  of  Trent)  Not  yet  repre- 
sented in  the  Italian  Parliament,  etc.,  Antonio  Franci,  instead 
of  Giovanni  Prati,  etc 

That  which  most  surprised  me  in  him  (for  he  had  seen  noth- 
ing) was  an  absolute  lack  of  the  sentiment  of  surprise  at  any 
thing,  no  matter  how  extraordinary,  which  he  might  see.  He 
witnessed,  while  in  Florence,  the  fetes  attendant  upon  the  mar- 
riage of  Prince  Humbert ;  saw  the  opera  and  ball  at  the  Per- 
gola (he  had  never  seen  a  theatre)  ;  saw  the  carnival  fetes  and 
the  fancy  illumination  of  the  Viale  dei  Colli  ;  saw,  in  fact,  a 
hundred  new  things  which  ought  to  have  astonished,  amused, 
and  made  him  talk,  but  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  His 
admiration  never  went  beyond  his  usual  formula  :  "  It  is  not 
bad."  Santa  Maria  del  Fiore.  .  .  .  it  is  not  bad  ;  Giotto's 
Tower.  .  .  .  not  bad ;  the  Pitti  Palace.  .  .  .  not 
bad.  I  firmly  believe  that  if  the  good  Lord  himself  should 
have  asked  him  in  propria  persona  what  he  thought  of  the 
Creation,  he  would  have  replied  that  it  was  n't  bad. 

From  the  first  to  the  last  day  that  he  remained  with  me,  he 
was  always  in  the  same  humor,  half  serious,  half  gay  ;  he  was 
always  docile,  always  dazed,  always  punctual  in  misunderstand- 
ing things,  and  ever  immersed  in  a  beatific  apathy,  and  ever 
extravagant  in  a  certain  way.  The  day  upon  which  he  re- 


282  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

ceived  his  dismissal,  he  scribbled  away,  for  I  know  not  how 
many  hours,  in  his  copy-book  with  his  customary  tranquillity. 
Before  leaving,  he  came  to  say  good-by  to  me.  The  scene  of 
parting  was  any  thing  but  tender.  I  asked  him  if  he  were 
sorry  to  leave  Florence,  to  which  he  replied  :  "  Why  not  ?  "  I 
then  asked  if  he  were  glad  to  return  home,  to  which  question 
he  responded  with  a  grimace  that  I  did  not  understand. 

"  If  you  ever  need  any  thing,"  I  said  at  the  last  moment, 
"pray  write,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  you."  "  Thank 
you  very  much  !  "*  he  answered.  And  so  he  left  the  house, 
after  having  passed  two  years  with  me,  without  giving  the 
slightest  sign  of  regret  or  joy. 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  went  down  stairs. 

Suddenly  he  turned. 

"  Now  we  will  see  whether  his  heart  has  opened,"  I  thought, 
"and  he  is  coming  back  to  take  leave  of  me  in  another  way." 

"  Lieutenant,"  he  said,  "  your  shaving-brush  I  put  in  the 
drawer  of  the  big  table." 

And  he  disappeared. 


AT   TWENTY. 


DON'T  let  any  one  talk  to  me  of  the  gay  life  of  students  and 
artists ;  for  officers  who  have  just  been  promoted  and  are  pass- 
ing through  the  first  few  months  of  regiment  life  are  really  the 
jolly  good-fellows  after  all.  A  young  man  of  twenty  can  not 
be  placed  in  a  position  more  favorable  to  gaiety  and  escapades 
in  general.  That  leap  from  the  college  to  liberty,  from  the 
dagger  to  the  sword,  from  the  refectory  to  the  restaurant ;  the 
first  delights  of  command,  the  new  outfit,  the  ordinance,  the 
new  friends,  the  benign  superiors,  ...  in  way  of  experi- 
ment, and  that  vague  idea  of  dying  some  fine  day  in  the  midst 
of  a  grain  field,  struck  in  the  forehead  by  a  ball  which  leaves 
us  not  even  the  time  to  cry  :  Non  dolet !  are  things  which  keep 
us  in  a  state  of  continuous  intoxication,  like  newly-married 
people.  This  kind  of  officer's  honeymoon  lasts  only  a  short 
time,  perhaps  less  than  the  other  one  ;  but  it  is  quite  as  de- 
lightful. How  many  colonels  covered  with  crosses  and  laden 
with  money  would  give  their  standing  in  the  "Annual"  to  live 
over  again  the  twelve  months  of  that  enchanting  carnival  ! 

Oh,  cloudless  days  and  peaceful  nights  passed  in  laughing 
and  joking — ah,  continue  ! 

As  healthful  as  roaches,  strong  as  oxen,  thoughtless  as  mad- 
men, audacious  as  adventurers,  always  in  mischief,  always 
hungry,  always  happy,  to  see  us  one  would  have  thought  that 

283 


284  MILITARY  LIFE. 

we  were  sure  of  being  generals  of  the  army  at  thirty.  That 
was  a  gay  time  !  The  most  cordial  laugh  of  the  captains  and 
majors  was  like  the  simper  of  a  hypochondriac,  a  consumptive 
cough  in  comparison  with  our  explosions  of  hilarity,  which  threw 
us  across  the  chairs,  and  made  the  whole  house  tremble.  We 
were  seven,  all  belonging  to  the  same  brigade,  in  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  cities  of  Sicily,  and  just  from  the  great  military 
manufactory  of  Modena.  Three  had  come  together  from 
Turin  on  a  journey  full  of  incidents.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  we 
had  started  from  home  with  a  certain  sum  of  money  for  our 
current  expenses,  in  the  certainty  of  going  direct  from  Genoa 
to  Sicily,  and  were  obliged  to  stop  at  Naples,  because  the 
steamer  could  not  leave  on  account  of  the  cholera,  added  to 
which  was  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  being  forced  to  live  at 
our  own  expense  during  the  quarantine  at  Palermo,  where  we 
passed  ten  interminable  days  in  the  Bella  Partenope,  living  on 
simple  macaroni  and  broth,  which  we  always  devoured  at  an 
eating-house  called  the  Villa  di  Torino  at  the  end  of  a  little 
private  room,  reserved  for  people  in  embarrassment,  and  those 
under  the  surveillance  of  the  police.  But  scarcely  had  we 
reached  the  regiment  before  our  charming  existence  began. 
We  seven  new-comers  met  on  the  second  day,  and  one  of  the 
number  was  seized  by  a  brilliant  idea.  He  proposed  that  we 
should  all  live  together  and  have  a  common  mess,  and  the 
proposal  was  accepted.  We  rented  a  regular  rat's  nest,  com- 
prising seven  rooms  and  a  kitchen.  We  got  an  orderly  as 
cook,  and  each  one  settled  himself  in  his  den,  hung  up  the 
orders  for  the  day  in  the  dining-room,  and  off  we  started  with 
our  house-keeping. 

It  is  quite  impossible  to  give  any  idea  of  all  that  was  done 


AT   TWENTY.  285 

about  the  house.  It  seemed  like  a  hotel,  a  barracks,  and  an 
insane  asylum.  Fancy  seven  officers  of  twenty,  seven  orderlies 
of  twenty-two, — two  Piedmontese,  one  Lombardian,  one  Tuscan, 
and  three  Neapolitans  ;  fourteen  persons  in  seven  rooms  as  large 
as  the  shell  of  a  chestnut,  all  in  motion,  from  morning  until 
night,  like  so  many  lost  souls.  One  went  to  "mount  guard," 
another  returned  from  picket  duty,  three  came  in  from  the  drill, 
two  went  out  on  provision  duty,  one  snored  until  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  another  rose  at  three  in  the  night,  and  another 
returned  home  at  daybreak  after  the  guard.  The  orderlies 
arrived  to  carry  dinner  to  the  absent  officers,  the  sappers  to 
bring  the  orders  for  the  day,  the  ambulant  vegetable-venders  to 
thrust  in  their  wares  at  the  door,  the  fruit-sellers  to  toss  the 
oranges  in  at  the  windows,  the  guitarists  to  sing  under  the 
balcony,  and  so  on  ad  infinitum.  On  one  side  the  windows 
were  scarcely  two  metres  above  the  street,  so  that  when  any  one 
was  in  haste  he  simply  went  out  through  the  window.  The 
house  door  was  always  open  ;  the  dogs  walked  in  and  wandered 
'around  at  their  pleasure.  There  was  not  one  moment  of  quiet. 
The  seven  soldiers  amused  themselves  by  beating  their 
masters'  cloaks  all  at  the  same  time,  and  made  such  a  noise 
that  people  gathered  in  the  street.  From  the  street  one  could 
hear  all  the  sounds  in  the  house,  even  to  our  conversation  car- 
ried on  in  a  low  voice.  One  of  the  seven,  to  make  matters 
worse,  hired  a  piano,  and  two  more  were  seized  by  the  mania 
for  fencing  with  canes.  Besides  which  the  house  was  so  wretch- 
edly resonant,  that  when  any  one  used  his  handkerchief  all 
the  rooms  echoed  the  sound,  and  from  every  bed  there  burst  a 
malediction.  Then  the  rain  fell  in  the  dining-room.  Yet,  de- 
spite these  discomforts,  and  the  pitiful  poverty  in  the  way  of 


286  MILITARY  LIFE, 

furniture  and  waving  curtains  and  hangings,  we  all  enjoyed  it 
immensely. 

The  mess,  too,  went  on  charmingly,  although  the  cook,  as  we 
discovered  two  months  later,  was  the  son  of  an  old  apothecary. 
One  of  us  had  assumed  the  direction  of  the  household  and 
kitchen.  Poor  caterer !  The  first  day  (I  shall  always  remem- 
ber it)  was  a  sorrowful  one  for  him.  His  name  was  Maglietti,  and 
he  was  a  Piedmontese,  a  capital  fellow,  sober,  orderly,  a  good 
house-keeper,  economical  without  being  mean.  On  assuming 
the  direction  of  affairs  he  had  made  his  calculations,  and  had 
said  to  us,  rubbing  his  hands  as  he  did  so  :  "  Leave  matters  to 
me.  We  will  live  finely,  and  spend  little  or  nothing."  But  he 
had  made  his  calculations  in  accordance  with  his  own  appetite, 
not  ours.  The  first  time  we  went  to  table,  after  a  march,  there 
was  such  a  total  destruction  of  the  viands  that  he  was  petrified 
with  astonishment.  When  every  thing  seemed  to  have  been 
finished,  one  of  us  collected  all  the  leaves  of  the  radishes  to  be 
found  in  the  kitchen,  made  a  salad,  on  which  all  began  to 
munch,  after  which  we  finished  a  kilo  and  a  half  of  bread. 
Poor  Maglietti  was  in  despair,  almost  ready  to  weep  ;  he  rushed 
into  the  kitchen,  and  seizing  a  handful  of  uncooked  vermicelli, 
threw  it  on  to  the  table,  saying  as  he  did  so  :  "  Take  it,  and  eat 
till  you  burst !  I  refuse  to  manage  affairs  any  longer.  I 
thought  I  was  dealing  with  officers,  and  not  with  wolves  ! " 
Then  we  burst  out  into  roars  of  laughter,  and  it  took  all  our 
tact  to  pacify  him  and  make  him  continue  in  his  office. 

However,  after  this  "incident"  all  went  on  marvellously. 
The  conversations  at  table  were  a  joke  for  the  passers-by 
down  in  the  street.  With  that  delightful  freedom  and  vocal 
power  peculiar  to  young  men  of  twenty,  we  discussed  every 


AT   TWENTY.  287 

evening  a  hundred  different  subjects,  from  the  most  difficult 
ballistic  problems  to  the  immortality  of  the  soul  ;  from  the 
regulation  of  discipline  to  the  music  of  the  future,  to  bursts  of 
eloquence,  to  cavils  like  rascally  advocates,  to  shouts,  to  can- 
nonades, to  explosions  of  mortars ;  so  that  it  seemed  as  if  we 
were  in  the  projectile-car  of  Jules  Verne  when  Michael  Ardan 
left  the  oxygen  retort  open.  In  this  case  it  was  the  light  wine 
of  Sicily  which  was  working.  From  time  to  time  two  of  the 
party  would  give  each  other  too  hard  a  blow,  and  these  were 
ready  to  fight,  to-morrow,  this  evening,  immediately,  right  there 
in  the  room,  between  one  course  and  another,  and^  would  rise 
to  go  in  search  of  their  swords  ;  but  then,  after  being  begged 
to  desist,  they  would  consent  to  finish  their  dinner,  and  by  the 
time  the  cheese  was  put  on  the  table  they  were  reconciled. 
There  were  some  small  duels,  too,  out  of  the  house,  just  to  keep 
the  hand  in,  and  a  little  crossing  of  swords  now  and  then  ;  but 
every  difficulty  was  adjusted  at  table  in  the  midst  of  the  usual 
uproar.  Little  by  little,  all  learned  to  take  jokes  manfully 
without  getting  enraged  ;  but  there  was  one  exception,  unfor- 
tunately, a  man  by  the  name  of  Cerraghi,  a  great,  big  Lom- 
bardian,  a  good  sort  of  devil,  but  rather  fiery.  But  he  was 
really  all  the  more  delightful  for  this  reason.  His  forte  was  his- 
tory, especially  modern  European  history  ;  he  read  nothing 
else,  and  cared  to  talk  on  no  other  subject.  He  remembered 
facts,  names,  and  dates  in  a  marvellous  manner,  and  got  into  a 
passion  when  any  one  said  any  thing  out  of  the  way,  although 
he  took  a  solemn  oath  every  day,  with  a  thump  of  the  fist  on 
the  table,  that  he  would  allow  us  to  say  what  we  chose  without 
opening  his  mouth.  So  of  course  we  amused  ourselves  by  pro- 
voking him  without  letting  him  see  our  purpose. 


288  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Have  you  seen,"  one  man  would  ask  of  his  opposite  neigh- 
bor, "at  such  and  such  a  lithographer's,  that  magnificent  draw- 
ing representing  Philip  II  at  the  battle  of  Pavia  ?  " 

Poor  Cerraghi  sprang  up  on  his  chair,  but  kept  quiet. 

"  Friends,"  continued  number  two,  "  you  really  must  go  to 
see  it.  It  is  a  stupendous  piece  of  work.  There  is  really  the 
color  of  the  locality,  and  the  epoch  in  it.  One  really  breathes 
the  air  of  the  i4th  century  like  .  .  ." 

"  Bravo  !  bravo  !  "  interrupted  another,  "  the  battle  of  Pavia 
in  the  i4th  century  !  Well,  you  have  studied  history  well.  You 
are  confounding  it  with  the  battle  of  Legnano." 

At  this  point,  poor  Cerraghi,  the  veins  of  whose  throat  were 
almost  ready  to  burst,  could  no  longer  contain  himself,  and  he 
broke  out  into  a  shout  : 

"  You  asses  !  you  asses  !  you  asses  !  " 

Then,  of  course,  there  was  a  general  outburst  of  laughter 
which  made  the  window-panes  rattle.  Another  delightful  type 
was  Boccetti,  a  handsome,  elegant  fellow,  a  trifle  vain,  but  very 
good-hearted,  who  tugged  at  his  coat-sleeves  from  morning  un- 
til night  in  order  to  display  his  cuffs,  especially  when  he  was  at 
table.  So  we,  for  a  joke,  took  to  imitating  him,  vicing  with 
each  other  as  to  who  could  show  the  most  linen,  so  much 
so,  in  fact,  that  sometimes  we  stopped  eating  in  order  to 
raise  our  arms  in  the  air,  with  our  sleeves  pushed  back  to 
the  elbow,  like  bell-ringers  ;  and,  finally,  things  arrived  at 
such  a  pitch,  that  in  order  to  avoid  fatigue  we  calmly  took 
off  our  cuffs  on  sitting  down  at  table,  and  placed  them  be- 
side our  plates,  so  that  every  one  could  admire  them  at  his 
leisure.  Boccetti  had  a  mania  for  passing  as  a  great  con- 
queror, enveloping  his  conquests  in  a  profound  mystery  ;  and 


•  AT  TWENTY.  289 

he  had  good  taste  and  aimed  high — at  coats  of  arms.  A 
month  after  we  were  established  there  were  two  or  three  coun- 
tesses and  three  or  four  marchionesses  of  whom  we  could  not 
talk  at  table  without  a  lack  of  delicacy  toward  him.  And  the 
rascal  probably  did  not  know  them  by  sight.  Every  day  a  new 
one  was  forthcoming. 

"  Did  you  see  such  and  such  a  countess  at  the  theatre  last 
evening  ?  "  one  of  us  would  ask  of  his  neighbor. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  A  beautiful  little  woman,  with  that  charming 
little  rose-colored  bodice.  I  would  give  the  half  of  my  blood 
to  kiss  the  point  .  .  ." 

"  I  beseech  you,"  interrupted  Boccetti,  becoming  suddenly 
quite  serious,  "  let  us  change  the  topic." 

"  Come  now,  is  the  veto  on  this  one  too  ?  " 

"  I  beg  you  to  desist,  out  of  regard  for  me." 

"  Well,  then,  let 's  change  the  subject."  But  there  were  quiet 
laughs  which  were  worth  a  hundred  loud  ones.  That  idiot 
of  a  Boccetti  used  to  rub  his  back  against  the  wall  at  the  house- 
door  before  coming  in,  in  order  to  make  us  believe  that  he  had 
whitened  himself  in  squeezing  some  lady  of  high  degree  on  the 
staircase  of  a  palace,  where  she  had  gone- to  call  upon  a  friend; 
and  while  he  was  dining,  he  would  jump  up  from  table  and  rush 
to  the  window  at  the  sound  of  a  carriage — only  to  expectorate, 
we  declared, — and  then  return  to  his  place  with  a  smile  full  of 
condescension,  as  he  stroked  his  moustache. 

His  neighbor  at  table  had  another  passion — that  of  playing 
the  Grand  Seigneur.  He  was  born  for  this  role,  and  it  fired  all 
his  blood.  He  was  empty  as  air,  and  not  being  able  to  squan- 
der in  any  other  way,  he  did  what  he  could.  He  lighted  his 
cigar  with  four  matches  at  a  time,  the  kind  which  cost  four 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

sous  a  box  and  are  as  large  as  tapers ;  he  would  allow  his 
candle  to  burn  all  night  ;  gave  ten  sous  as  pour-boire  for  a 
glass  of  beer ;  and  threw  two  francs  out  of  the  window,  with  the 
gesture  of  an  annoyed  prince,  in  order  to  stop  a  violin-player 
who  made  him  nervous.  Dear  Cavagnetti !  He  squandered 
half  of  his  pay  in  these  "expenses  for  representation."  And 
he  said  so  quite  ingenuously :  "  You  understand  ;  one  must 
maintain  a  certain  amount  of  dignity."  And  to  maintain  his 
own  dignity  he  played  like  a  madman  at  cards,  billiards,  chess, 
dominoes,  mora,  lotta,  with  any  one  who  came  along,  at  any 
hour,  and  upon  every  occasion,  until  he  had  not  a  copper  left ; 
then  he  would  light  his  cigar  with  an  entire  box,  and  on  re- 
turning home  say  quite  seriously  that  he  intended  to  hang 
himself  with  his  sash,  which  really  meant :  "  Lend  me  twenty 
francs."  And  he  had  a  curious  fancy  (developed  one  hardly 
knows  how)  that  made  us  laugh  most  heartily.  He  had  seized 
upon  a  word,  which  he  continually  repeated,  quite  involuntarily, 
giving  a  new  signification  to  it  each  day  ;  the  word  was  cy- 
clop. In  speaking  of  the  colonel  he  would  say  :  "  The  cyclop 
was  in  bad  humor  this  morning."  He  would  call  the  orderly  : 
"  Ho,  there,  cyclop  !  "  A  fourth  bottle  appeared  on  the  table  : 
"  Oh,  a  fourth  cyclop  !  "  and  always  quite  seriously.  We  asked 
him  the  meaning  of  the  word.  "  How  do  I  know  ?  "  he  would 
reply  ;  "  it  comes  quite  naturally  to  me.  I  like  it.  Every  one 
has  his  own  particular  taste."  And  he  would  puff  his  cigar — the 
cyclop — with  intense  enjoyment. 

After  dinner  our  pianist  generally  performed,  and  we  had  a 
little  ball,  each  one  imitating  the  mode  of  dancing  of  his 
own — how  shall  I  say  it  ?  a  Frenchman  might  say  inclination 
(it  is  strange,  but  the  opposite  word  would  be  more  gal- 


AT   TWENTY.  2QI 

lant).  But  that  pianist  was  so  extraordinary  that  we  stopped 
as  soon  as  he  began.  Never  in  the  world  had  the  passion 
for  music  been  planted  in  such  a  disharmonious  brain.  To 
hear  him  play,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  jumping  all  equipped, 
and  with  his  baggage  to  boot,  upon  the  key-board.  Yet, 
despite  all  this,  he  was  possessed  with  the  idea  of  com-: 
position  ;  he  degraded  counterpoint,  searched  for  a  libretto, 
and  among  his  other  fixed  fancies,  was  the  desire  to  set 
to  music  the  Orlando  Furioso,  upon  which  he  said  he  had 
been  working  for  three  years.  One  day  he  brought  a  music- 
master  home  iu  order  to  ask  his  opinion  about  a  mazurka, 
and  the  latter's  sole  reply  was  to  ask  in  a  weak  voice  for  a  glass 
of  brandy,  which  of  course  gave  us  food  for  merriment.  But 
our  imperturbable  friend  continued  to  compose  and  pound 
away  on  the  piano  in  all  his  spare  moments,  singing  his  ro- 
mances in  a  voice — strongly  resembling  a  rusty  lock — that  made 
one's  flesh  creep.  But  he  did  not  attempt  this  sort  of  thing 
at  night,  however,  as,  having  endeavored  to  enliven  our  dreams 
once  with  the  Casta  Diva,  there  was  such  a  shower  of  slippers 
and  boots  in  his  room,  that  the  following  morning  there  was 
really  a  leather  carpet  over  the  floor. 

But  the  jolliest,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  heedless 
fellow  of  the  lot,  was  a  man  from  Romagna,  a  certain  Mazzoni, 
with  a  huge  frame,  who,  upon  sitting  down  to  table,  said  :  "  I 
am  hungry,"  in  such  a  deep  voice,  which  apparently  came  from 
some  unknown  depth,  that  the  poor  caterer  fairly  paled.  And, 
in  fact,  it  was  only  the  hunger  of  a  trombone-player  after  a 
seven  hours'  concert,  of  an  Esquimaux  after  a  seal-hunt,  or  a 
lion  who  had  been  fasting  for  three  days,  that  could  be  com- 
pared to  the  fury  with  which  he  cleared  the  table.  His  dinner 


MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

was  not  a  dinner ;  it  was  a  regular  raid,  the  "  requisition  "  of  a 
squad  of  cavalry  in  time  of  war,  a  devastation,  a  sacking.  So 
much  occupied  was  he  in  masticating,  that  he  talked  little ;  but 
amused  the  company  away  from  the  table  with  every  sort  of 
unexpected  joke,  for  which  he  really  had  a  satanical  imagina- 
tion. Did  I  say  amuse?  Sometimes  he  drew  forth  more 
curses  than  there  were  hairs  to  his  head  ;  but  we  always  ended 
by  laughing.  He  was  quite  capable  of  meditating  upon  and 
preparing  one  of  his  tricks  for  seven  days  running.  One  night, 
toward  one  o'clock,  while  we  were  sleeping  soundly,  we  were 
wakened  suddenly  by  a  sense  of  bitter  cold, — all  six  of  us, — and 
we  found  ourselves  uncovered,  with  the  sheets  and  counter- 
panes at  the  bottom  of  the  bed.  We  rearranged  our  beds,  and 
then  fell  asleep  again  ;  an  hour  later  the  same  thing  happened 
again,  and  it  really  seemed  as  if  witches  were  at  work,  until  one 
man,  having  lost  his  patience,  seized  a  taper,  another  lighted  a 
candle,  and  all  sprang  up,  exclaiming  :  "  It 's  Mazzoni !  "  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  Mazzoni  was  snoring,  and  had  not  even  moved. 
What  is  it  ?  What  could  it  be  ?  Finally  some  one  stumbled 
over  a  small  cord  stretched  across  the  room  ;  there  was  one 
discovered  in  every  room,  and  all  six  were  joined  in  the  ras- 
cally fist  of  that  imposter  who  was  snoring.  Then  we  went  for 
him.  But  it  was  all  very  fine  trying  to  manage  a  giant  like 
him,  for  he  drove  us  all  from  the  room  like  wasps  with  just  six 
blows  from  his  pillow,  and  remained  master  of  the  situation. 
Another  time  a  poor  devil  who  was  utterly  worn  out  after  a 
march  was  waked  at  midnight  by  a  beautiful  Catherine-wheel  of 
various  colors,  that  filled  his  room  with  a  shower  of  fire  ;  or  we 
all  rose  from  table  with  our  chairs  fastened  to  the  floor  ;  or  at 
the  moment  we  drew  out  our  swords  on  the  review,  we  would 


AT  TWENTY.  293 

find  all  the  hilts  tied  to  the  sheaths  by  a  fine  silken  cord,  with 
which,  at  that  moment,  we  would  gladly  have  hanged  our  dear 
friend  to  the  nearest  lamp-post. 

The  greatest  fun,  however,  was  always  at  table,  where  some- 
thing new  was  invented  each  day.  For  some  time  we  had  the 
habit  of  unbuttoning  our  coats,  for  air,  every  time  an  ex- 
traordinary statement  was  made  ;  and  we  did  little  but  button 
and  unbutton  that  garment.  For  certain  canards  of  Boccetti 
we  all  six  got  into  our  shirt-sleeves  without  any  ceremony,  or 
we  left  the  table  to  run  and  throw  open  the  seven  windows  of 
the  house  ;  in  fact,  one  evening  he  gave  vent  to  such  a  colossal 
one,  in  relating  one  of  his  old  adventures  with  a  Florentine 
lady,  who,  from  a  marchioness  of  twenty  at  the  beginning  of 
the  tale,  changed  into  a  princess  of  eighteen  toward  the  end, 
that  we  all  rushed  down  into  the  street  and  obliged  him  to 
hold  forth  from  the  balcony  for  some  time  before  returning  to 
the  house  for  dinner.  One  day  we  ate  in  the  Oriental  fashion, 
without  knives  and  forks,  talking  Turkish,  that  is  to  say,  put- 
ting an  a  into  every  syllable,  with  a  forfeit  for  every  one  who 
made  a  mistake,  which  nominally  resulted  to  three  hundred 
lire  in  one  evening.  Another  day  six  of  us  agreed  not  to  allow 
the  seventh  to  speak,  and  we  silenced  him  by  drowning  his 
voice  with  a  continuous  and  deafening  chorus  of  disapproba- 
tion. Another  time  no  one  was  allowed  to  talk  except  in  verses 
of  melodrama,  song,  or  quotations  of  the  master,  or  title  of  the 
opera.  Then  came  the  mania  for  "  food-stealing,"  which  was 
a  regular  calamity.  However,  we  made  a  rule  by  which  every 
one  was  obliged  to  abide.  Any  one  who  could  carry  off  some 
tid-bit  from  a  friend's  plate  had  a  right  to  it,  and  the  friend,  if 
he  did  not  wish  to  fast,  was  obliged  to  send  the  orderly  to  buy 


294  MILITARY  LIFE. 

sausage.  There  was  no  way  of  getting  out  of  it.  The  sufferer 
might  turn  red,  yellow,  green,  or  black  ;  but  he  was  forced  to 
laugh.  The  successful  onslaughts  provoked  revenges,  so  that 
little  by  little  the  game  became  a  rage.  We  had  to  defend 
ourselves  like  so  many  dogs.  There  was  no  way  of  dining  in 
peace.  The  cutlets,  side  bones  of  fowls,  eggs,  and  glasses  of 
wine  disappeared  as  if  by  magic.  Some  had  acquired  a  fear- 
ful dexterity.  They  even  invented  instruments  for  the  pur- 
pose. That  devil  of  a  Mazzoni  emptied,  with  one  stroke,  a  cup 
of  coffee,  by  thrusting  into  it  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  an 
enormous  piece  of  bread,  so  shaped  that  it  acted  like  a  pump ; 
and  he  carried  off  at  one  time  a  half  kilo,  of  maccaroni  in 
broth,  by  a  certain  infernal  tool,  made  with  a  bunch  of  tooth- 
picks in  the  shape  of  a  funnel  ;  or  with  a  bed  bar,  at  the  top  of 
which  he  had  cautiously  tied  a  fork,  he  would  carry  a  slice  of 
the  fry  from  one  end  of  the  table,  which  was  two  metres  and  a 
half  in  length.  Then  came  the  thefts  by  conjury,  cords, 
hooks,  wires,  and  highway  robberies.  It  was  something  fear- 
ful, desperate,  and  absolutely  ruinous.  But  Mazzoni  always 
said  :  "  You  have  yet  to  see  the  monster  theft,  the  greatest  one 
of  all  !  "  And  we  all  trembled.  Finally,  one  evening,  while  we 
were  disputing  with  our  forks  a  dish  of  polenta  with  small 
birds,  Mazzoni  uttered  an  oath,  saying  that  he  had  dropped  his 
fork,  and  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  .  .  .  Ye  heavenly  powers  ! 
We  had  not  finished  our  exclamation,  when  the  table  was 
already  in  the  next  room,  carried  off  on  the  back  of  that  gigan- 
tic thief,  without  a  single  drop  of  wine  having  been  spilled. 

Then  came  the  passion  for  nocturnal  excursions.  We  went 
out  at  night  in  old  citizen's  clothes  which  we  had  brought  from 
home,  dyed,  faded,  and  recolored,  which  were  threadbare,  and 


AT   TWENTY.  295 

certain  cutthroat-looking  hats.  We  went  to  sing,  under  the 
windows  of  friends  who  had  fallen  asleep,  songs  for  the  occa- 
sion, for  which  they  generally  thanked  us  with  wash-basins  or 
garbage-boxes  ;  or  to  mysterious  dens  in  the  suburbs,  to  drink 
punch  among  English  and  French  sailors,  to  whom  we  repre- 
sented ourselves  as  journeymen  varnishers  and  cabinet-makers, 
en  route  to  the  East.  What  outbursts  of  laughter  there  were 
with  that  crazy  Boccetti,  who,  at  two  in  the  morning,  on  re- 
turning home. through  those  deserted  streets  as  dark  as  cata- 
combs, saw  behind  every  blind — he  only — a  gleam  of  light, 
which  meant:  "Boccetti,  my  husband  has  returned;  don't 
come  up  !  "  or :  "  To-morrow  at  this  hour  !  "  And  Cavagnetti, 
who  played  the  grand  seigneur  even  in  the  dark,  by  throwing 
handfuls  of  coppers  to  the  dogs  ;  and  the  pianist,  who  wished  to 
draw  rifle-shots  upon  himself  by  shouting  his  superhuman 
romances  under  the  windows  !  The  nocturnal  excursions  were 
generally  undertaken  after  great  dinners  ;  because  we  did  give 
dinners  despite  the  "  overdrawn  accounts  "  of  Maglietti.  The 
guests  came  half  a  dozen  at  a  time.  We  could  not  write  cards 
of  invitation  like  that  in  the  Vie  de  Boheme  :  "  //  y  aura  des 
assiettes  ";  but  we  managed  things  equally  well.  We  lighted 
stumps  of  candles,  and  placed  on  the  bureaus  and  behind 
vases  of  flowers  heads  of  lettuce,  arranging  upon  the  walls 
decorations  made  from  cudgels  and  birch  trees.  Those  who 
arrived  last  made  themselves  comfortable  on  the  beds,  in 
Roman  style,  drank  their  wine  out  of  coffee  cups  without  han- 
dles, and  wiped  their  mouths  on  newspapers.  Some  arranged 
their  little  spreads  on  one  side,  on  a  military  box  set  upright ; 
others  without  any  compliments  went  straight  to  the  kitchen  to 
pilfer  from  the  saucepans.  All  talked  at  once  ;  and  often  a 


296  MILITERY  LIFE. 

troop  of  shirtless  players  in  the  street  enlivened  our  dinner 
with  music,  by  singing  Mamma,  sto  passiarello  ;  the  soldiers 
wrangled  and  disputed  in  the  kitchen  as  to  precedence  in  the 
question  of  rapine,  and  altogether  there  was  such  a  racket 
that  the  discharge  of  a  gun  would  not  have  been  heard.  That 
braggart  Cavagnetti,  however,  seized  the  brief  moments  of 
silence,  to  make  the  people  gathered  in  the  street  believe  that 
we  were  having  a  supper  worthy  of  Lucullus.  "  Softly  there," 
he  shouted,  "  with  that  Johannisberg  !  "  or  :  "  Boccetti  !  ho, 
there,  Boccetti !  have  that  pheasant  with  truffles  passed  !  " 
The  conversations  changed  little  by  little  into  choruses  from 
Ernani ;  the  brigade  scattered  to  play  the  devil  in  the  different 
rooms ;  then  some  dressed  themselves  up,  some  danced,  and 
others  indulged  in  trials  of  strength ;  the  neighbors  hit  each 
other  above  and  below  with  sticks  ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  house 
were  being  shaken  by  an  earthquake,  for  the  dust  and  smoke 
covered  every  thing,  and  in  fact  one  could  see  nothing,  or  only 
indistinctly  at  best.  It  even  seemed  as  if  we  saw,  flying  around 
in  a  giddy  waltz,  the  Rosalies,  Concettas,  and  Neddas,  as  young 
as  us,  but  wilder,  quite  as  agile  and  dark  as  Bedouins,  .  .  . 
who  melted  away  in  the  air. 

We  had  plenty  of  occupation  too,  in  keeping  in  order  the 
seven  orderlies,  who  took  advantage  of  our  absence  for  all 
sorts  of  wild  doings.  These  malefactors,  when  we  were  away 
(we  finally  caught  them  in  the  act),  put  on  our  jackets,  lighted 
our  pipes,  placed  themselves  at  the  windows  with  our  swords 
in  their  hand's,  and  played  the  Agnus  Dei  with  those  same 
neighbors  to  whom  we,  royal  sub-lieutenants,  had  made  eyes. 
They  assumed  the  attitudes  of  lovers  a  la  Metastasio,  the  ras- 
cals !  And  we  had  to  keep  our  eyes  open  too,  on  account  of 


AT   TWENTY.  297 

the  constant  coming  and  going  of  laundresses,  ironers,  and 
pin-  and  needle-women,  because  from  the  very  first  day  we 
caught,  through  the  cracks  of  the  doors,  fragments  of  Lombar- 
dian,  Piedmontese,  and  Neapolitan  declarations  of  love,  uttered 
in  tones  of  voice  that  demanded  the  most  speedy  and  vigorous 
intervention  on  the  part  of  their  superiors.  4  But  this  was  not 
the  worst.  One  evening  the  general  caterer  goes  into  the 
kitchen  to  change  the  position  of  a  cask  of  Marsala  wine, 
which  we  had  purchased  three  days  before  for  grand  occasions, 
and  upon  seizing  it,  he  discovers  that  it  is  alarmingly  light. 
Our  good  friends  drank,  then,  and  how  ?  While  we  were 
swallowing  wretched  black  table -wine,  they  were  indulging 
like  lords  in  Marsala.  Poor  Maglietti  lost  his  head  ;  he  was 
ready  to  stick  them  all  with  one  blow,  like  so  many  spiders. 
But  it  was  necessary  to  catch  them  in  the  act.  The  next  even- 
ing at  dinner,  taking  advantage  of  a  moment  of  suspicious 
silence  in  the  kitchen,  we  all  rose  softly,  approached  the  door 
on  tiptoe,  put  our  eyes  to  the  crack  .  .  .  and  what  a 
sight  greeted  us  !  There  were  four  of  these  scapegraces,  leaning 
over  the  cask,  with  four  long  straws  stuck  into  a  hole,  sucking 
away  blissfully,  their  eyes  half  closed  like  four  great  cats,  with 
a  smile  on  their  lips,  so  engrossed  in  their  agreeable  employ- 
ment, in  such  a  tranquil  state  of  beatitude,  that  they  were 
quite  unaware  of  our  presence,  and  continued  to  enjoy  them- 
selves. "  Oh,  you  rascals  !  "  shouted  the  caterer.  The  men 
sprang  up  like  four  steel  springs,  and  stood  quite  breathless. 
Yet  for  that  piece  of  impertinence  the  cook  had  the  face  to  ex- 
cuse himself.  "  Oh,  lieutenant !  "  he  murmured,  "  you  are  quite 
right  .  .  .  Too  good !  .  .  .  But  .  .  .  well — what 
can  one  drink  with  a  straw  ! "  Saying  which,  however,  he 


298  MILITARY  LIFE. 

dashed  behind  a  wardrobe  with  one  spring,  to  avoid  the  cuff 
that  he  knew  he  deserved. 

These  little  domestic  calamities,  however,  gave  variety  and 
spice  to  our  beautiful  home  life.  We  quarrelled  occasionally, 
but  at  heart  were  fond  of  each  other.  Whenever  it  was  possible 
we  went  out  together,  so  much  so  that  in  the  brigade  we  were 
called  the  patrol  of  the  seven  ;  our  street  was  called  the  street 
of  the  seven  ;  and  it  was  the  custom  to  say  :  "  I  am  going  to 
dine  with  the  seven,"  "  I  have  seen  the  seven,"  without  any 
thing  more.  Just  as  at  Venice  they  used  to  say  once :  "  I 
have  seen  the  ten."  We  were  like  brothers.  When  one  was 
absent  at  table,  the  usual  good-humor  was  lacking  ;  the  choicest 
tid-bits  from  the  kitchen  were  sent  to  the  one  on  guard  ;  a 
regular  "  oration  "  was  made  to  him  who  returned  from  duty  ; 
when  any  man  received  fifty  francs  from  home  he  was  carried 
around  the  house  in  triumph  on  a  chair ;  if  another  was  in 
need  of  any  service  he  was  sure  to  find  the  remaining 
six  ready  to  render  it ;  cigars,  watches,  candles,  sashes,  were 
all  common  property.  Toward  the  end  of  the  month,  when 
money  was  scarce,  he  who  had  any,  gave  it  freely,  and  if  every 
one  was  entirely  out  of  pocket,  we  all  dined  together  on  salad 
and  fresh  water,  and  smoked  the  stumps  which  had  lain  for- 
gotten in  the  drawers,  as  gay  if  not  gayer  than  ever.  We  were 
jolly  too,  because  we  still  possessed  that  fresh  enthusiasm  for 
military  life,  because  the  music  of  the  regimental  band  made 
our  hearts  beat,  because  we  wished  well  to  the  soldier,  but, 
above  all — this  is  the  true  reason, — because  youth  boiled  in  our 
veins  and  beat  to  our  brains,  as  the  venerable  Gino  wrote,  and 
life  .  .  .  but  I  '11  spare  my  readers  a  recitation  on  life. 

Every  thing  has  an  end  ;  and  this  was  the  case  with  the  mess 


AT   TWENTY.  299 

of  the  seven  too.      The  first  shock  came  from  the  illness  of  the 
cook,  who  was  replaced  by  another.     We  took  a  Genoese  (with 
a  face  that  would  have  looked  well  on  the  top  of  a  bayonet), 
who  was  as  bold  and  secure  of  himself  as  an  old  brave,  and 
who   prided   himself  on   having  been  under-cook  in  a  great 
hotel.      When  asked  what  he  knew  how  to  do,  he  modestly  re- 
plied: "  Every  thing."    "  What  a  marvel!  "  we  said  to  ourselves. 
"  Now  we  shall  have  fine  dishes."     And  we  instantly  set  him  to 
work.     .      .      .      He  was  simply  a  wretch,  a  Borgia,  a  monster 
without  the  bowels  of  compassion.     If  he  had  at  least  been 
aware  of  his  own  ignorance,  and  had  restricted  himself  to  plain 
cooking  !     But  no,  he  insisted  upon  getting  up  the  most  aristo- 
cratic dishes  of  his  great  hotel,  of  which  he  only  retained  the 
most  indistinct  recollections,  and  placed  upon  the  table  stuff 
that  made  him  worthy  of  being  shot  in  the  back.      For  a  time 
we  went  on  with  a  saintly  resignation  ;  but  it  was  useless,  we 
could  not  stand  it.       One  day  he  served  us  an  enormous  risotto 
flavored    with    a   sauce   of  his  <nun   invention.      Appearances 
promised  well,  we  took  our  places  at  table,  our  mouths  fairly 
watering.      Ye  heavenly  powers  !      The  mere  odor  drove  us 
away  from  table  !     And  that  day  matters  culminated;  we  could 
not  procure  another  cook,  because  the  colonel  did  not  like  to 
dispense  with  soldiers  in  service  ;  so  we  had  to  make  a  sacrifice 
and  give  up  the  mess.     But  it  was  a  genuine  sorrow  to  all. 
Fortunately  a  great  event  came  unexpectedly  to  con- 
sole us.    That  same  evening,  while  the  excellent  Maglietti,  sur- 
rounded by  us  all,  was  closing  up  his  accounts  of  the  mess,  and 
notifying   each   one   of  his   indebtedness   with   a  melancholy 
voice,  a  telegram  to  the  division  arrived,  ordering  the  imme- 
diate departure  of  the  brigade  for  Northern  Italy.      It  was  the 


300  MILITARY  LIFE. 

first  breath  of  the  messenger  of  war.  All  heard  and  received 
the  announcement  with  a  shout  of  joy.  And  we — the  seven — 
after  having  all  run  together,  like  a  single  sub-lieutenant,  to  the 
telegraph  office  to  ask  seven  money-orders  from  our  respective 
families,  gave,  the  following  evening,  in  our  now  famous  mouse 
den,  our  last  Sardanapalus-like  feast,  at  which  we  drank,  in 
honor  of  beautiful  Sicily,  the  small  quantity  of  Marsala  that 
had  escaped  from  the  rascally  straws  of  our  seven  revellers. 

Two  days  after,  one  beautiful  April  morning,  the  brigade 
embarked  on  a  large  military  transport.  The  embarkation  of 
a  brigade  is  a  spectacle  full  of  poetry.  All  those  boats  filled 
with  soldiers,  and  bristling  with  gleaming  gun-stocks,  which 
crowd  around  that  black,  smoking  giant,  make  one  think  of  an 
ancient  fleet,  pressing  around  a  solitary  fortress,  set  on  fire  by 
its  defenders.  When  we  were  all  aboard  we  turned  toward 
that  beautiful  shore,  from  which  thousands  of  handkerchiefs 
saluted. us.  All  were  gay.  The  Piedmontese  soldier  thought  : 
"  I  shall  see  my  dear  Alps  again  "  ;  the  Neapolitan  said  :  "  I 
shall  salute,  in  passing,  my  Vesuvius  "  ;  the  Genoese  rejoiced  in 
thinking  that  he  would  land  in  his  Superba ;  and  the  Lombar- 
dian  said  in  his  heart :  "  We  shall  pass  my  country  en  route  to 
the  war."  Only  the  Sicilian  soldiers,  who  had  never  left  the 
island,  looked  around  with  a  meditative  air  at  their  beautiful 
mountains,  which  perhaps  they  might  never  see  again.  A  cer- 
tain disquietude  took  possession  of  all.  We  were  going  to  the 
war,  or,  in  other  words,  to  a  mystery.  What  had  the  future  in 
store  for  us  ?  Glory  ?  Humiliation  ?  Promotion  ?  The  am- 
putation of  an  arm  ?  A  medal  ?  Or  that  ball  in  the  forehead, 
in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  field  of  grain  ?  Even  at  that  mo- 
ment the  seven  were  together,  and  all  looked  at  Sicily  with  a 


AT   TWENTY,  3OI 

slight  feeling  of  sadness.  Boccetti  touched  his  eyes  with  his 
handkerchief,  pretending  to  weep  for  his  99th  countess  ;  the 
pianista  waved  an  adieu  to  that  fortunate  sky  which  had  heard 
his  divine  harmonies  for  five  months  ;  Maglietti  saluted  with 
regret  those  walls  among  which  he  had  made  so  many  useless 
attempts  to  practise  rigid  economy  ;  and  even  the  good  Mazzoni 
contemplated  with  a  certain  sweet  melancholy  the  city  where 
he  had  devoured  and  imbibed  so  much,  and  taken  so  many 
turns  with  his  friends.  Cavagnetti  alone,  who  had  lost  seventy- 
five  francs  at  play  two  days  before,  stood  on  one  side,  leaning 
over  the  parapet,  more  angry  than  sad.  "What  's.the  matter 
with  you,  Cavagnetti  ?  "  I  asked  on  approaching  him.  "  Are 
you  thinking  with  regret  of  your  Sicily  ?  "  "  Not  a  bit  of  it  !  "  he 
replied,  continuing  to  fix  his  eyes  on  the  city.  "  I  am  thinking 
with  regret  of  the  seventy-five  cyclops  that  I  have  lost  there." 

But  then  he  suddenly  roused  himself,  lighted  a  cigar  with 
eight  matches,  assumed  his  usual  air  of  a  millionaire,  and  began 
promenading  with  long  steps  up  and  down  the  steamer  (which 
was  majestically  cutting  the  waves)  laden  with  so  many  arms 
and  hopes. 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN. 

REMINISCENCE    OF    1866. 


MY  dear  friend  Alberto,  I  am  going  to  copy  several  pages 
from  your  reminiscences  ;  do  not  be  annoyed  at  this,  for  if 
these  pages  do  not  give  you  honor  as  a  literary  personage,  they 
certainly  will  not  show  you  to  disadvantage  as  son  and  sol- 
dier. Permit  me  to  take  this  liberty,  and  rest  assured  of  my 
discretion,  because  if  I  were  really  desirous  of  abusing  our  in- 
timacy, I  could  publish  many  others  of  your  secrets. 

AT    HOME. 

I. 

After  parting  with  the  joys  and  illusions  of  youth,  when 
nought  but  the  comfort  of  recording  them  remains  to  me,  I 
shall  think  more  frequently  and  with  greater  emotion  of  the 
last  days  of  April  and  the  first  ones  of  May  in  1866  than  of  any 
others  during  my  entire  life. 

I  had  never  seen  Turin  so  gay  and  beautiful.  The  immi- 
nent outbreak  of  the  national  war  which  had  been  invoked  and 
expected  for  so  many  years,  had  suddenly  aroused  all  the  gen- 
erous and  warlike  characteristics  of  that  city.  It  was  sufficient 
to  pass  an  evening  in  one  of  the  principal  streets,  to  become 
•  aware  by  the  bustle,  the  unusual  attitude  of  persons  in  general, 

302 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  303 

and  the  bands  of  workmen,  students,  and  boys,  that  there  was 
something  stirring  the  souls  of  the  people,  and  that  some  great 
event  had  taken  place  or  was  about  to  do  so.  Every  evening 
seemed  like  that  of  a  fete. 

They  were  the  days  when,  in  meeting  a  soldier,  one  looked 
at  and  wondered  about  the  horseman  who  crosses  the  street 
with  a  folded  paper  buttoned  into  his  coat ;  and  the  people  stop 
to  see  a  convoy  of  the  army  train  pass  ;  and  in  the  boys'  schools 
there  is  no  way  of  preserving  quiet  ;  the  old  pensioned  officers 
talk  in  loud  voices  in  groups  at  the  cafes,  and  bring  down  their 
fists  on  the  table  ;  the  mothers  grow  anxious  ;  the  young  men 
become  quite  mad  ;  the  women  are  less  looked  at  than  usual, 
and  cease  a  little  to  force  themselves  into  all  thoughts,  de- 
sires, and  plans,  as  they  always  do,  with  their  usual  proud 
tyranny. 

Turin  felt  most  profoundly  all  the  poetry  of  these  days. 
During  the  morning,  on  the  avenues  around  the  parade  ground, 

were  the  families,  relatives,  and  friends  of  the  soldiers  of  the 

« 

second  division,  who  had  been  called  to  arms  within  a  few 
days  and  still  wore  the  greater  part  of  their  ordinary  dress  : 
high  hats,  red  caps,  elegant  light  trousers,  and  great  Alpine- 
hunters'  gaiters,  black  coats,  and  ragged  jackets, — all  equals 
there.  Around  the  barracks  there  was  a  continual  wandering 
of  fond  mothers  with  bundles  under  their  arms,  a  coming  and 
going  of  officers  and  messengers  of  the  division  and  public 
squares,  together  with  a  crowd  of  curious  people  before  the 
door  ;  inside,  a  deafening  noise.  At  evening,  behind  the 
bugles  and  drums,  came  an  immense  concourse  of  people  who 
walked  in  time,  in  bands  of  ten  or  twelve,  arm  in  arm  ;  and  the 
songs  and  shouts  that  echoed  through  all  the  neighboring 


3O4  MILITARY  LIFE, 

streets.  At  the  point  where  the  music  and  soldiers  re-entered 
the  barracks  there  were  hand-shakings,  applause,  hurrahs,  and 
the  cries  :  "  Till  to-morrow  !  till  to-morrow !  "  They  all 
seemed  soldiers.  There  I  felt  thee,  Piedmont ! 

II. 

How  much  better  we  all  were  in  those  days  ! 

The  expectation  of  that  solemn  war  by  which  liberty 
was  to  be  vindicated  and  the  country  restored  to  a  people 
so  illustrious  and  beloved,  who  had  suffered  so  much  ;  the 
knowledge  that  even  the  people  of  the  poorer  classes  felt  that 
it  was  a  just  and  holy  war  ;  the  sight  of  those  poor  fellows  from 
the  country,  rough,  ignorant  of  every  thing,  who  had  come 
to  serve  as  soldiers  with  so  much  good-will  and  heart,  and  take 
part  so  quickly,  if  not  in  the  enthusiasm,  at  least  in  the  com- 
mon gaiety  ;  the  report  that  the  same  thing  was  taking  place 
everywhere ;  that  everywhere  young  men  of  every  condition 
went  by  the  hundreds  to  enlist ;  that  the  fathers  and  mothers 
themselves  accompanied  them,  and  the  people  greeted  and 
blessed  them,  and  in  that  marvellous  unanimity  of  hopes  and 
good  wishes  political  discords  were  readjusted,  and  only  one 
single  cry  was  to  be  heard  ; — all  this  filled  people's  souls  with  a 
calmness  and  joy  so  full,  so  intense,  that  it  seemed  a  veritable 
happinesss.  Every  evil  passion  fled  from  the  heart ;  old 
offenses  were  pardoned,  old  rancors  stilled ;  people  sought  or 
found  in  their  enemies  their  mutual  friends,  and  they  placed 
a  stone  on  the  past.  That  ever-present  thought,  that  deep 
affection  which  occupied  us  continually,  gave  us  an  energy 
and  a  vigorous  and  unusual  vitality  which  made  itself  felt  by 
our  tone,  looks,  actions,  and  steps.  What  joviality,  what  affec- 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  3O$ 

tionate  harmony  among  friends  !  How  pure  and  elevated  were 
all  our  thoughts,  and  how  much  stronger  were  all  our  affec- 
tions !  Spring  did  not  smile  in  the  flowers  alone,  nor  was  it 
felt  in  the  air  and  blood  solely  ;  it  laughed  in  all  hearts  ;  it  was 
like  a  breath  of  fresh  young  life  that  had  permeated  our  entire 
being.  What  days  !  O  country  !  if  we  could  always  feel 

thus  ! 

III. 

From  the  first  day  that  the  possibility  of  war  was  mentioned, 
my  head  began  to  grow  confused  ;  and  the  confusion  increased 
little  by  little,  until  the  probability  was  changed  into  a  cer- 
tainty. I  say  confused,  because  I  can  find  no  other  fitting  ex- 
pression. I  thought,  talked,  and  worked  as  if  under  the  influence 
of  some  intoxicating  liquor.  First  agitation,  then  disquietude, 
then  a  regular  fever  ;  rushes  of  blood  to  the  head  ;  an  itching  of 
the  hands  to  get  to  work  ;  an  intense  desire  for  motion,  air, 
light,  music,  poetry  ;  and  an  absolute  impossibility  of  fixing  the 
mind  on  any  one  thought.  Not  even  the  thought  of  war,  be- 
cause the  representing  to  myself  in  imagination  events,  no 
matter  how  marvellous  and  terrible,  was  like  taking  something 
from  that  idea  of  an  indefinite  and  adventurous  future  which 
filled  me  with  so  much  joy  and  life. 

When  I  entered  the  house  I  could  not  keep  quiet.  I  dre\v 
a  dozen  books  down  from  the  shelves,  looked  over  a  page  in 
each,  panting,  working  myself  around  on  my  chair,  and  tap- 
ping my  feet  impatiently  ;  then  I  threw  them  all  into  the  air. 
"  Books  are  not  enough  !  they  are  not  enough ! "  I  shouted. 
"  Books  do  not  tell  what  is  boiling  within  me."  I  opened  a 
newspaper  ;  in  those  days  the  newspapers  were  on  fire  ;  I  gave 
a  glance  at  the  customary  enthusiastic  article  and  tore  the 


306  MILITARY  LIFE. 

sheet  in  a  hundred  pieces.  "  But  this  is  weak  ;  heavens !  this  is 
cold ! "  And  seized  by  a  sudden  poetic  inspiration,  I  seated 
myself  at  the  table  and  began  to  write  hastily.  I  will  write  an 
article,  I  said  ;  and  instantly  thereafter  I  threw  away  pen, 
paper,  and  ink,  exclaiming  as  I  did  so  :  "  Every  thing  is  cold  ! 
I  am  growing  desperate.  Tell  me,  mother,  in  heaven's  name, 
are  there  no  verses  in  Italian  literature  which  will  express  the 
fever  that  is  devouring  me  ?  "  "  Berchet,"  she  suggested 
timidly,  "  No,  not  Berchet,"  I  replied  in  a  dramatic  tone  ; 
"Berchet  is  irate,  Berchet  hates,  Berchet  curses,  and  I  love 
in  this  moment,  love  intensely,  love  every  one  ;  I  feel  like  a 
brother  to  all ;  I  could  throw  my  arms  around  all  those  whom 
I  meet  in  the  street.  I  love  even  the  Austrians,  dear  mother  ! 
I  would  kill  many  of  them ;  but  I  love  them,  because,  thanks 
to  them,  Italy  is  thus  roused,  raises  her  head,  and  shows  her- 
self to  be  so  powerful,  dear,  and  beautiful,  diffusing  through 
all  her  sons  that  inexpressible  feeling  of  pride  and  joy  !  Death 
to  the  Austrians,  but  hurrah  for  them  too !  I  never  felt  so 
much  like  a  Christian  before  ! " 

Then  I  dashed  to  the  window  and  grew  enraged  at  the  still- 
ness in  the  street.  "  Just  see  what  a  shameful  quiet  !  How  is 
it  possible  ?  Why  does  not  every  one  go  down  and  make  a 
noise  ?  What  sort  of  people  are  these  ?  .  .  .  Let  me  over- 
come this  fever  !  "  Then,  shutting  myself  up  in  my  room  and 
seizing  my  sword,  I  pretended  that  I  had  facing  me  an  Aus- 
trian officer,  long  and  thin,  with  a  pair  of  bushy  moustaches  and 
protruding  eyes.  I  put  myself  on  guard,  and  down  came  the 
blows,  the  parryings,  leaps,  and  thrusts,  until  I  fell  quite  ex- 
hausted upon  the  sofa.  In  other  words,  I  was  crazy. 

It  is  quite  superfluous  to  say  that  the  neighborhood  were 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  3O/ 

thoroughly  aware  of  my  existence.  Besides,  my  poetic  exclama- 
tions, which  were  heard  in  the  street,  I  used  to  pass  the  entire 
evenings  on  the  terrace  in  the  court ;  and  every  one  knows 
what  the  courts  are  like  in  the  new  houses  at  Turin.  (We 
lived  in  one  of  the  three  great  palaces  in  Via  Nizza,  opposite 
the  railway  station.)  They  are  great  pigeon-houses,  where 
there  are  more  people  than  stones,  and  after  dinner  all  rush  to 
the  windows,  and  those  above  look  at  those  below,  those  below 
look  at  the  legs  of  those  above  ;  up  in  the  attics  they  make  love, 
on  the  terraces  the  children  play,  the  employe's  read  the  news- 
papers, and  from  the  roof  to  the  ground-floor,  from  the  ground- 
floor  up  to  the  roof,  those  on  one  floor  talk  illy  of  those  on  an- 
other, and  all  bow  to  and  smile  at  each  other  like  the  best 
friends  in  the  world.  We  lived  on  the  second  floor.  We  had 
on  one  side  a  charming,  cultivated,  and  clever  Neapolitan  lady, 
a  great  friend  of  ours  ;  a  woman  a  la  Cairoli,  full  of  energy  and 
dash,  imaginative  and  prolific,  who,  one  day  when  her  son  was 
to  fight  a  duel,  had  filled  my  mother  with  admiration  and  sur-r 
prise  in  saying  to  her  quietly  :  "  He  will  do  his  duty  !  "  On 
the  other  side  lived  an  old  engineer,  a  painter  and  octogenarian, 
who  was  blind,  and  a  veteran  of  Napoleon  I,  surrounded  by 
a  half  dozen  dear  little  grandchildren,  who  were  my  delight. 
He  was  a  handsome  old  man,  with  a  good  heart,  was  fond 
of  me,  called  me  his  son,  and  when  I  was  away  and  delayed 
replying  to  him  for  a  couple  of  days,  would  go  timidly  to  ask 
my  mother  if  I  could  have  taken  offence  at  any  thing  in  his 
last  letter.  On  the  same  floor,  opposite  us,  lived  a  widow,  about 
forty,  who  was  elegant,  languid,  thin,  ugly,  a  rabid  devourer  of 
novels,  and  had  the  habit  of  going  to  the  window  every  time  I 
was  there,  casting  certain  long,  languishing  glances,  drawing 


308  MILITARY  LIFE. 

up  her  mouth  and  drooping  her  head  with  its  false  curls  on  one 
side  in  a  melancholy  way.  In  the  window  next  hers  usually 
stood  her  cook,  who  was  seized  with  an  incipient  passion  for 
my  orderly  (a  handsome  fellow,  in  parenthesis)  ;  she  had  a 
round  face,  quite  purple  in  color,  and  so  puffed  out  that  it 
seemed  as  if  she  were  continually  blowing ;  great  lips,  large 
eyes,  immense  shoulders,  with  a  broad  curve  here  and  there, 
which  could  be  seen  even  from  the  most  distant  quarter  of 
the  house.  On  the  third  floor  above  the  languid  nymph, 
lived  a  student  of  the  University,  who  was  very  young,  a 
good  sort  of  fellow,  crazy  about  the  war,  already  enrolled 
in  the  volunteers,  one  of  the  dearest  and  most  curious  of 
jovial  people.  At  any  hour  of  the  day,  when  I  clapped  my 
hands,  he  would  spring  on  to  the  terrace,  with  his  arms  and 
face  in  the  air  like  an  improvisatore  questioning  and  replying 
to  me  in  verse,  would  start  discussions  on  the  higher  politics, 
war,  philosophy,  and  literature,  declaiming,  gesticulating,  and 
humming  in  a  most  amusing  manner.  At  the  sound  of  his 
voice  the  entire  neighborhood  would  appear  at  the  windows. 

Then  followed  a  vast  amount  of  hilarity  on  all  the  floors.  "  I 
like  youth  like  this,"  murmured  the  poor  old  man.  And  the 
cook  hid  behind  a  blind  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  Her 
mistress  pursed  her  mouth  into  a  smile  which  was  intended  to 
say  :  "  What  dear  idiots  !  "  The  Neapolitan  lady  flung  a  bon- 
mot  at  me,  my  sister  ran  off,  my  mother  pulled  me  by  the  coat, 
and  my  brother  muttered  :  "  This  is  too  much."  Then  my 
cousin,  the  colonel,  when  he  was.  there,  a  stiff,  austere  soldier, 
who  was  really  fond  of  me,  but  he  gave  me  great  wiggings,  for 
which  reason  I  called  him  beneficent  executioner,  said  to  me 
gravely:  "  Do  be  serious  ! '' 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  309 

In  his  presence  I  cannot  deny  that  I  was  a  trifle  embarrassed ; 
but  suddenly  my  friend  would  break  out  with  another  strophe, 
and  then  good-by  to  all  gravity,  for  we  grew  wilder  than  ever. 

This  was  the  public  comedy,  which  was  followed  by  a  private 
one.  The  eldest  of  the  old  soldier's  grandchildren  used  to 
come  and  see  me,  and  I  would  say  to  him  :  "  Courage  ;  fall 
into  line  !  "  then  taking  my  mother,  sister,  and  the  boy  by  the 
arm,  I  put  them  in  line  whether  they  liked  it  or  not,  and  made 
them  stay  there  too.  If  my  mother  laughed,  I  placed  my  hand 
on  her  shoulder  and  said  :  "  Quiet,  my  dear  lady,  erect^  and 
serious,  otherwise  we  shall  close  the  doors  and  declaim  fifty- 
eight-line  stanzas  with  all  the  strength  of  our  lungs,  and  you 
know  we  are  very  robust."  "  No  !  no  !  for  pity's  sake  ! " 
she  would  reply.  "  Then  silence  !  "  I  shouted.  "  We  shall 
have  to  stay  here,"  she  murmured,  laughing  afresh,  and  turn- 
ing to  my  sister, — and  that  laugh  of  hers  was  so  sweet  and  gentle. 
"  Attention  !  march  !  "  My  shout  was  so  deafening  that  my 
little  soldiers  would  get  into  disorder,  and  rush  about  here  and 
there,  holding  on  to  their  ears,  and  I  behind  them  to  bring 
them  one  by  one  back  to  their  place  ;  then  I  set  them  free, 
with  the  understanding  that  they  should  all  shout  together, 
"  Hurrah  for  the  war  !  "  But  my  mother  said  to  me  :  "I  will 
not  shout."  "  But  you  will  shout."  "  Oh,  no."  "  Then  take 
a  kiss,  you  angel !  " 

But  from  day  to  day  she  became  more  thoughtful.  Several 
regiments  had  already  started,  and  from  one  hour  to  another  we 
expected  the  orders  for  mine  to  leave.  She  knew  this.  Some- 
times, when  I  was  making  a  racket,  I  caught  her  looking  at  me 
sadly,  and  I  said  :  "  Of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  "  "  My  son," 
she  replied  sadly,  "  I  am  thinking  that  we  have  only  a  few  days 


3IO  MILITARY  LIFE. 

more  together  .  .  .  I  am  glad  that  you  are  so  gay,  and  at 
the  same  time  .  .  .  this  gaiety  of  yours  hurts  me,  because 
.  .  .  I  think  that  I  shall  feel  all  the  more  painfully  the  void 
and  silence  which  will  fill  this  house  before  long." 

"  It  is  true,"  I  thought.  Poor  women  !  "  Courage  !  courage  ! " 
i  we  say  to  them, — we  who  go  to  the  war  full  of  enthusiasm,  ambi- 
tion, with  dreams  of  glory,  gay,  thoughtless,  and  surrounded  by 
friends  ;  but  they  remain  here  alone  without  comfort  or  dis- 
traction, always  with  that  thought,  that  fixed  pain. 

"  I  understand,  I  feel  that  in  these  days  I  am  nothing  to 
you.  .  .  ."  added  my  mother.  "  No,  no,  let  me  finish,  I 
do  not  complain  of  it,  you  know  !  Poor  boy,  it  is  natural  . 

;••:,    but    .    .    ." 

"  Listen,"  I  said  to  comfort  her  ;  "  you  have  so  noble  and 
choice  a  heart,  you  can  find  comfort  in  yourself  much  more 
easily  than  other  women.  We  are  not  selfish.  Do  you  think 
this  war  ought  to  take  place  ?  that  it  is  just  ?  that  it  is  a  solemn 
duty  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  I  admit,"  she  replied,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  Then  if  we  do  not  make  it,  we,  the  adult  generation,  our 
children  will  be  obliged  to  do  so  afterward.  If  there  were  not 
now  five  hundred  thousand  mothers  who  are  weeping,  there 
would  be  that  number  within  twenty  years.  We  sacrifice  our- 
selves to  our  country  for  the  five  hundred  thousand  boys  and 
girls  who  are  still  in  leading-strings  ;  they  have  in  each  other 
their  predestined  lovers  and  wives,  shall  we  not  then  assure  their 
future,  as  far  as  within  us  lies,  from  every  pain  or  sorrow,  and 
so  act  that  they  may  love,  marry,  and  multiply  in  peace  ?  " 

My  mother  smiled,  but  instantly  became  sad  again.  "  All 
this  is  true,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  but  it  is  not  enough  to  con- 
sole a  mother  !  " 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  311 

« 

Then  leaning  her  elbows  on  a  table  and  burying  her  face  in 
her  hands,  she  wept  silently.  I  tried  to  console  her.  "  No, 
my  son  ;  go  out,  go  and  hunt  up  your  friends,  I  do  not  wish  to 
sadden  you  ;  let  me  weep  alone  ;  go." 

It  was  evening ;  she  stayed  in  the  dark  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  alone  and  silent ;  thinking  and  thinking. 

I  have  never  experienced  as  I  did  in  those  days  the  marvel- 
lous power  of  imagination  over  sentiment.  I  began  some- 
times, in  an  idle  way,  to  fancy  all  possible  cases  of  the  war, 
and  then  little  by  little  I  concentrated  my  thoughts  and  buried 
myself  so  completely  in  the  imagination  of  the  battles,  tri- 
umphal entries,  and  returns,  that  I  really  seemed  to  be  present, 
to  feel,  and  to  see  ;  my  blood  was  stirred,  I  clasped  my  head  in 
my  hands,  for  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  burst,  so  great  was  the 
tumult  of  ideas,  and  my  chest  was  heaving,  and  I  was  filled 
with  all  sorts  of  childish  impulses. 

One  night  I  was  on  guard  at  the  Madama  Palace  ;  alone  in 
my  room,  seated  at  a  table,  with  the  light  in  front  of  me,  and 
giving  rein  to  my  fancies,  I  imagined  that  I  had  risen  to  such 
a  height  that'  I  could  take  in  with  a  single  glance  the  entire 
country — mountains,  valleys,  rivers,  forests, — and  I  felt  and  saw 
all  the  streets  in  the  city  filled  with  people,  the  parade  grounds 
gleaming  with  bayonets,  and  from  the  fortresses,  arsenals,  and 
doors  came  a  confused  sound  of  arms  and  songs,  and  the  dull 
noise  of  a  hurried,  feverish  labor.  On  the  railways  were  in- 
terminable, heavy,  slow  trains,  running  over  the  country  in  all 
directions,  meeting,  crossing,  following  each  other,  greeted  with 
joy  by  the  people  who  had  gathered.  Here  and  there  they 
stopped  to  discharge  a  load  of  cannon,  horses,  wagons,  and 
piles  of  arms.  Suddenly  a  loud  sound  of  drums  and  trum- 


312  MILITARY  LIFE. 

pets  broke  out  on  every  side,  and  from  every  city  there  started 
and  spread  through  the  country  the  columns  of  the  regiments, 
which  converged,  united  by  twos  and  threes,  and  advanced 
slowly  to  the  frontiers,  crowning  the  heights,  winding  along  the 
rivers,  overflowing  the  valleys,  and  stretching  out  in  immense 
battle-lines  over  the  plains.  On  the  mountains  of  the  Tyrol, 
from  Lake  Garda,  up,  up  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 
gleamed  in  a  thousand  points  the  red  bands  of  the  volunteers, 
climbing  and  descending  the  slope,  disappearing  in  the  chasms, 
and  reappearing  on  the  summits  of  the  rocks.  Meanwhile  all 
the  vast  Lombardian  plain  was  peopled  with  tents  and  parks, 
and  the  sound  of  shouts  and  music  was  heard.  Then  came 
nightfall  and  all  was  quiet.  Finally,  at  the  break  of  day,  a 
troop  of  horsemen  started  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  from 
the  general  headquarters,  scattered  in  every  direction,  and 
shouts  ran  on  from  camp  to  camp  ;  the  whole  army  began  to 
stir,  organize,  and  advance.  .  .  .  Here  the  imagination 
not  being  able  to  embrace  the  entire  picture  of  the  measure- 
less battle,  an  immense  veil  of  mist  appeared  before  me,  broken 
here  and  there  in  great  rents,  through  which  one  could  see  our 
young  regiments  dashing  to  the  assault  of  the  hills,  receding, 
and  reclimbing  again  with  determination  ;  then  squads  of  horse- 
men with  hanging  lances  burst  venire  a  terre  against  the  squares  ; 
then  batteries  hastily  join  other  batteries,  and  from  the 
heights  gleam  and  break  the  flanks  of  the  retreating  columns  ; 
then  indefatigable  troops  of  sharp-shooters  scatter  and  unite, 
follow,  draw  back,  hide,  and  then  stretch  out  again  in  long 
chains,  and  on  every  side  assaults  succeed  assaults,  lines  suc- 
ceed lines,  and  the  very  heavens  resound  with  the  horrible 
tumult.  Whensiiddenly  a  deep  silence  falls  over  all,  the  mist 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  313 

disappears,  the  dust  grows  thinner,  on  the  tops  of  all  the  moun- 
tains our  battalions  are  moving,  our  flags  flying,  our  fanfara 
echoing,  and  from  one  end  of  Italy  to  the  other  bursts  out  a 
prolonged  shout  of  joy,  which  has  been  suppressed  for  so  long 
a  time.  .  .  .  Yes,  break  out,  O  shout,  and  resound  through 
all  the  vaults  of  heaven  ;  but  do  not  drown  that  undertone 
which  comes  from  my  mother's  breast.  .  .  .  O  God  !  my 
head  !  my  head  ! 

I  dashed  out  of  the  room,  left  the  palace  ;  Piazza  Castello 
was  as  deserted  and  quiet  as  the  court  of  an  enormous  con- 
vent ;  the  hill  of  Superga  was  distinctly  outlined  against  a  clear 
and  starry  sky,  and  the  fa9ade  of  the  Gran  Madre  di  Dio, 
lighted  by  the  moonbeams,  seemed  as  if  only  two  feet  away. 
"  What  a  beautiful  night,"  I  exclaimed.  "  I  am  really  happy  !  " 

But  a  picture  disturbed  my  happiness :  the  picture  of  a  poor 
woman,  seated  in  the  corner  of  her  little  room,  quite  in  the 
dark,  with  her  forehead  resting  on  her  hands,  thinking  and 
thinking. 

THE    DEPARTURE. 


On  the  6th  of  May,  toward  five  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
a  group  of  ten  officers  were  gathered  at  the  door  of  the 
barracks,  when  we  heard  a  hurried  step  coming  down  the 
stairs,  and  instantly  thereafter  the  breathless  adjutant  appeared, 
shouting  :  "  Gentlemen  !  We  leave  this  evening  at  eight 
o'clock.  Luggage  in  the  barracks  at  seven.  Full  marching 
equipment." 

We  gave  a  shout  of  joy,  and  without  even  asking  where  we 


314  MILITARY  LIFE. 

were  going,  started  off  on  a  run.  Some  to  the  neighboring 
cafe  to  tell  their  friends,  others  to  call  their  orderlies,  and  the 
rest  home.  A  moment  after  in  the  barracks  there  was  a  most 
awful  racket,  the  drums  beat,  the  news  spread  through  the 
neighborhood,  the  people  gathered,  and  in  a  few  moments  from 
house  to  house,  street  to  street,  the  rumor  flew  through  half 
the  city,  scattering  fear  in  the  hearts  of  all  the  mothers. 

I  ran  home,  climbed  the  stairs  three  steps  at  a  time,  rapped, 
and  the  door  was  opened  by  my  mother. 

"  My  God  !  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  what  is  it  ?  " 

I  was  panting  like  a  horse. 

"  We  must  go." 

"  Oh ! " 

"  Yes  ;  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

"  When  ? " 

"  At  eight  o'clock." 

"  At  eight  o'clock,"  my  mother  repeated  in  the  same  tone, 
as  if  in  echo,  and  there  she  stood  without  speaking  or  making 
any  gesture,  looking  at  me  with  a  dazed  air. 

"  Quick,  quick,  the  trunks  must  be  packed ;  they  have 
to  be  at  the  barracks  at  seven,  and  the  orderly  will  come  for 
them  in  a  few  minutes  ;  meanwhile,  we  must  begin  ;  courage  !  " 

After  a  moment,  on  seeing  that  my  mother  did  not  move, 
I  said:  "Well?" 

"  Ah  !  "  she  replied,  as  if  coming  out  of  a  stupor.  "  I  am 
ready.  Erminia  ! " 

My  sister  instantly  appeared. 

"  He  is  going,"  my  mother  said  hastily  ;  "  you  must  put  up 
all  his  things  ;  every  thing  is  ready  ;  is  it  not  ?  Well — now — 
wait — where  is  the  trunk  ?  But  no  ;  it  is  better  first — let  me 
see — or  rather  .  " 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  31$ 

•  And  she  looked  here  and  there,  as  if  she  had  taken  leave  of 
her  senses.  That  good  woman  is  made  on  purpose  to  lose  her 
head  on  similar  occasions. 

"  Well !  "  she  then  said  (in  order  to  get  over  her  embarrass- 
ment) to  my  sister,  who  was  also  standing  there  as  if  in  a 
dream. 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  the  latter,  rousing  herself  suddenly  ;  "  quick  ; 
yes,  we  must  hurry." 

Then  both  ran  into  the  other  room. 

A  pull  at  the  bell  ;  I  opened  the  door  ;  it  was  the  orderly. 
"  Here  I  am  !  "  he  exclaimed  breathlessly. 

"  Maria  !  "  shouted  my  mother,  returning  in  great  haste.  The 
servant  appeared. 

"  Go  and  call  my  daughter  instantly.  In  passing,  tell  the 
porter  to  come  and  fetch  the  trunk.  Have  Ettore  called  from 
the  cafe.  Tell  them  to  come  quickly." 

The  orderly  carried  the  trunk  on  to  the  terrace  ;  the  noise  of 
the  trunk  brought  the  languid  nymph  to  the  window  ;  the  lan- 
guid nymph  called  the  purple  cook  ;  the  impetuosity  with 
which  the  purple  cook  threw  open  her  window  called  the  other 
neighbors  to  the  terrace. 

Meanwhile  my  mother  was  going  and  coming  without  doing 
any  thing. 

"  Friend  ! "  I  shouted,  clapping  my  hands. 

"  Italy  !  "  he  replied,  appearing  at  that  moment  on  the  terrace 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  in  an  inspired  attitude. 

"  I  am  going  at  eight  o'clock." 

He  disappeared,  returned  dressed,  threw  up  his  stick.  "  I 
will  wait  for  you  at  the  station  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  dashed 
down  stairs  shouting  :  "  Hurrah  for  the  war  ! "  letting  his 


3l6  MILITARY  LIFE. 

stick  hit  every  iron  in  the  railing,  and  creating  thus  a  most 
dreadful  racket. 

"Alberto  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother,  stopping  in  her  breathless 
haste. 

"  Here  I  am." 

She  drew  me  aside. 

"  Tell  me.     .     .     .     Where  are  you  going,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"To  Piacenza." 

"  To  Piacenza ;  tell  me.  Piacenza  is  a  fortified  city,  is  n't 
it?" 

"  Yes,  it 's  fortified." 

"  Shall  you  remain  there  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  But — don't  they  defend  fortified  cities  ?  " 

"  Not  that  one,  because  we  go  further,  and  it  remains  behind 
us." 

"  Yes,  .  .  ."  she  said,  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  lost  all 
hope,  and  off  she  went. 

Another  pull  at  the  bell ;  I  opened  the  door  ;  it  was  my  elder 
sister.  She  pressed  my  hand  and  joined  the  others. 

A  third  ring  ;  it  was  my  brother. 

Meanwhile  my  mother  returned,  her  arms  laden  with  linen. 
She  was  so  serious  and  impassible  that  I  was  amazed  ;  behind 
her  came  the  others,  all  silent,  with  lowered  heads.  My  mother 
bent  over  the  trunk  ;  the  orderly  made  a  respectful  motion  to 
take  the  things  ;  she  waived  him  aside  and  replied  :  "  No,  let  me 
doit."  My  sisters  stretched  out  their  hands  .to  do  the  same.  "Let 
me  do  it,"  my  mother  replied  again,  and  stooped  to  kneel. 
"  Mother  !  "  I  said  in  a  tone  of  affectionate  reproof,  seizing  her 
by  the  hand.  She  looked  at  me.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  do  it," 


DEPARTURE  AND   RETURN.  317 

I  added.  Then  she  said,  in  a  tone  even  more  affectionate  than 
mine  :  "  I  ask  it  as  a  favor." 

She  knelt  down  and  packed  the  things.  The  orderly  looked 
at  me  half  touched,  half  surprised,  as  if  to  say  :  "  How  fortu- 
nate you  are,  lieutenant  !  "  I  looked  at  him  as  if  to  reply  :  "  I 
know  it  ;  I  am  sorry  that  your  mother  is  not  here." 

My  mother  rose  and  went  away.  I  heard  a  heavy  sigh, 
turned,  and  saw  my  younger  sister  weeping. 

My  mother  returned  with  something  in  her  hands,  placed  it  in 
the  trunk,  and  went  away  again.  I  looked:  it  was  her  portrait. 

She  returned  with  three  books,  and  put  them  on  the  por- 
trait. 

"  What  are  those,  mother  ?  " 

"They  are  The  Promessi  Sposi" 

'  Oh,  thanks  !  "  and  I  kissed  her  hand  ;  she  withdrew  again 
hastily — always  impassible.  We  all  looked  at  her  in  astonish- 
ment, and  grew  uneasy. 

"Take  off  your  sash." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

She  removed  it  without  saying  a  word,  and  put  it  in  the 
trunk. 

"Mother,  I  must  wear  it."  She  made  no  reply,  but  went 
into  another  room.  Another  heavy  sigh  :  my  elder  sister  was 
crying. 

My  mother  returned  with  a  magnificent  silk  sash,  put  it  around 
my  neck,  and  said  :  "  I  have  made  it  during  the  hours  when 
you  were  on  the  parade  ground." 

"  Mother,"  I  exclaimed,  seizing  her  hand,  "  this  is  too 
much  !  "  She  turned  her  head  away. 

The  orderly  looked  at  her  with  glistening  eyes. 


3 1 8  MILITAR  Y  LIFE, 

"  That  is  all,"  she  said,  turning  around  ;  and  a  moment  later : 
"You  can  close  it." 

She  lowered  the  lid,  pressed  it  with  her  hand,  but  did  not 
succeed  in  closing  it;  she  placed  her  knee  upon  it,  pushing  back 
with  her  elbows  those  who  tried  to  help ;  her  foot  slipped,  she 
tottered  .  .  . 

"  Mother  !  what  are  you  doing  ? "  we  all  exclaimed,  catching 
hold  of  her. 

A  rap  at  the  door  ;  it  was  the  porter  who  had  come  to  fetch 
the  trunk. 

"  Here  already  ? "  exclaimed  my  mother,  turning  around 
sharply,  in  a  tone  of  disagreeable  surprise.  "Take  it." 

The  porter  placed  the  trunk  on  his  shoulders. 

"  To  the  barracks  of  Porta  Susa,"  I  said. 

"  I  know  where  it  is,"  he  replied  in  moving  off. 

"  Stop  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother  suddenly  ;  the  latter  turned. 

"  Be  careful  (she  tried  to  think  of  something  to  say) — be 
careful  not  to  let  it  fall  !  " 

"  Don't  be  afraid." 

Out  he  went ;  my  mother  accompanied  him  to  the  door, 
watched  him  down  the  stairs.  "  He  has  disappeared  "  ;  she 
pressed  her  lip  together  violently,  and  conquered  the  rising 
tears.  She  returned  as  impassible  as  before,  and  I  began  to 
grow  alarmed. 

Here  is  the  beneficent  executioner,  "  Good-evening."  No  one 
replied;  he  understood,  looked  me  in  the  face,  and  I  raised  my 
head.  "  That 's  right ;  that 's  not  bad,"  he  seemed  to  say  ;  and 
we  all  passed  into  the  neighboring  room,  where  we  seat  our- 
selves in  a  circle.  No  one  spoke.  We  heard  the  rustle  of  a  dress, 
the  door  opened,  and  the  strong-minded  lady  appeared.  All 
rose  to  their  feet. 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  319 

"  My  good  friend,"  she  said,  putting  out  both  hands  to  my 
mother,  with  her  peculiar  grace  and  her  strong  and  energetic 
way,  "  I  have  only  just  learned  that  your  son  is  going  away. 
These  are  certainly  sad  moments,  but  each  one  of  us  must  suf- 
fer for  the  country.  These  are  great  days  for  Italy  !  A  great 
war !  Believe  me,  it  is  impossible  that  the  enemy  should  be 
able  to  withstand  for  any  length  of  time  the  wave  of  fire  which 
will  seize  it  on  all  sides.  The  army  has  a  whole  people  at 
its  back  ready  to  go  into  the  field.  These  are  great  days.  This 
is  the  way  nations  are  made  !  " 

My  mother  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  If  I  could  once  see  a  great  battle  from  a  distance.  To  see 
it  at  the  finest  point,  when  our  regiments  have  driven  the 
enemy  from  all  the  hills  of  the  line  of  battle,  and  down  the 
slopes ;  on  the  other  side,  horses,  soldiers,  wagons,  cannon, — all 
flying  precipitately  !  Courage,  dear  lady ;  this  is  a  veritable 
crusade  ;  even  the  women  and  children  would  like  to  fight  too. 
If  the  army  was  broken  up,  another  would  form  in  fifteen 
days." 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  "  broke  out  my  mother  with  a  dash  that  was 
meant  for  enthusiasm,  and  was  in  reality  nothing  but  maternal 
affection  veiled  in  the  love  of  country.  "  Yes  !  It  is  a  crusade  ! 
Every  one  ought  to  go  to  the  war ;  every  one,  so  that  there 
would  be  millions  and  millions,  and  that  the  enemy  would 
really  be  frightened,  abandon  the  idea  of  resistance,  and  open 
the  doors  of  the  fortresses." 

"  Where  is  my  son  ?  "  a  trembling  voice  asked  in  a  neighbor- 
ing room,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the 
old  blind  man  appeared,  with  his  arms  outstretched  as  if  call- 
ing me  to  him.  I  embraced  him  ;  he  touched  my  sword,  sash, 


320  MILITAR  V  LIFE. 

epaulettes,  and  asked  in  a  trembling  voice  :  "  Are  you  ready  ?  " 
Then  placed  his  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  rested  his  cheek  on 
my  breast,  and  remained  in  this  position.  All  were  silent.  The 
"executioner"  erect  at  the  end  of  the  room,  contemplated  the 
spectacle  with  knitted  brows  and  folded  arms.  My  mother 
looked  fixedly  at  me. 

A  few  moments  elapsed,  and  I,  giving  a  glance  at  the  clock, 
said  with  a  great  effort :  "  It  is  time  to  go  !  " 

All  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  took  a  step  toward  me.  The 
"  executioner  "  approached  me  and  whispered  in  my  ear  :  "  Be  a 
man  !  " 

"  Well  ! "  I  murmured,  putting  on  my  cap. 

"Well!"  said  the  Neapolitan  lady  resolutely,  pressing  and 
shaking  my  hand  at  every  word.  "  Courage  ;  do  yourself 
honor  ;  remember  us,  and  write."  Saying  which,  she  retired. 

"  Farewell,  Alberto  !  "  exclaimed  my  brother,  throwing  his 
arms  around  my  neck,  and  kissing  me. 

My  sisters  embraced  me,  sobbing,  and  then  fled. 

"  Here  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  opening  his  arms.  "  Here, 
my  son  !  "  And  my  head  on  his  shoulder,  he  murmured  in  a 
trembling  voice  :  "  If  this  is  to  be  the  last  time  that  I  embrace 
you  .  .  .  may  heaven  grant  that  I  be  the  first  one  to  go  ! " 

The  "  executioner  "  pressed  my  hand,  looked  firmly  at  me, 
and  withdrew  without  saying  a  word. 

My  mother  and  I  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment ;  she 
threw  herself  into  my  arms,  put  hers  around  my  neck,  and 
covered  me  with  kisses  of  despair  ;  then  seizing  my  arm  with 
one  hand,  and  pressing  the  other  tightly  on  my  shoulder,  close 
to  my  side,  she  allowed  herself  to  be  dragged  rather  than  led 
to  the  door.  There  I  released  myself  by  force,  and  dashed 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  $21 

down  the  staircase.  At  that  same  moment  she  uttered  a  long, 
heart-breaking  cry :  "  Alberto  !  Alberto  !  "  as  if  she  had 
seen  me  fall  over  a  precipice. 

I  heard,  while  going  down,  the  others,  who  had  run  forward, 
— a  confused  sound  of  voices  ;  my  soldier,  among  others,  who 
said:  "Courage,  madame  ;  I  will  always  keep  near  him  ;  that 
I  promise  you  !  "  .  .  .  the  despairing  sobs  of  my  mother, 
a  last,  faint  cry  of  "  Alberto  !  "  and  then  nothing  more. 

In  hurriedly  crossing  the  court,  I  met  the  four  grandchildren 
of  the  old  man,  who  were  returning  from  school  ;  I  stopped 
them,  and  covered  them  with  kisses  :  "Oh,  you  are  suffocating 
me  !  "  shouted  the  frightened  little  girl. 

"  Mr.  Lieutenant,  if  you  had  seen  !  "  exclaimed  my  soldier, 
joining  me  with  his  handkerchief  at  his  eyes. 

"  Be  quiet  !  "  I  shouted. 

And  we  hurried  through  the  street. 

II. 

When  I  reached  the  barracks  it  was  almost  dark.  The  com- 
panies were  already  armed  and  drawn  up  in  line  in  the  court. 
Outside,  there  was  an  indescribable  confusion  ;  the  street  was 
crowded  with  people,  and  illuminated  with  torches  by  a  large 
number  of  the  students  of  the  University  ;  the  door  of  the 
quarters  was  filled  with  officers,  around  whom  were  a  multitude 
of  mothers,  sisters,  and  small  brothers,  who  wished  to  enter, 
and  who  were  weeping  and  begging  with  clasped  hands  :  "  Let 
us  see  him  once  more,  one  moment  only,  only  for  a  word  !  " 
And  the  officer  of  the  guard  kept  pushing  them  back,  shouting 
and  begging  too  :  "  Do  me  the  favor  to  draw  back  and  leave 
the  space  open  ;  we  cannot  allow  you  to  enter  ;  it  is  forbidden  ; 


322  MILITARY  LIFE. 

we  are  only  doing  our  duty  ;  you  will  see  them  when  they  go 
away."  Then  there  was  a  gathering  of  the  officers'  wives  with 
their  children,  who  had  come  to  offer  their  last  words  of  coun- 
sel and  their  prayers  ;  then  a  coming  and  going  of  other  wom- 
en and  girls,  who  were  neither  mothers,  wives,  nor  sisters,  some 
of  whom  were  weeping,  others  pretending  to  do  so  in  order  to 
arouse  a  practical  sympathy  in  those  who  remained,  others  at  one 
side  in  melancholy  attitudes  ;  troops  of  workmen  who  passed 
singing  and  waving  banners  ;  there  were  shouts,  applause,  and  a 
waving  and  confused  murmur  like  the  sea  in  a  storm. 

A  roll  of  drums  was  heard  ;  the  officers  disappeared,  a  sudden 
silence  fell  upon  the  crowd.  A  moment  later  and  out  came 
the  sappers  of  the  regiment  to  clear  the  street. 

I  was  seized  by  the  thought  :  "  We  are  going  to  the  station  ; 
my  God  !  We  shall  have  to  pass  under  our  windows  ! " 

The  music  began,  the  regiment  is  out,  flanked  by  two  long 
rows  of  torches  ;  the  families  attacked  the  lines  ;  the  officers  and 
sergeants  drove  them  back  ;  repelled  here  and  there,  they  re- 
turned at  another  point  ;  the  people  gathered  at  the  windows 
waving  flags  ;  here  and  there  fall  a  shower  of  cigars  and  oranges  ; 
a  multitude  preceded  the  regiment  singing  ;  another  followed  it. 
"  Hurrah  for  the  Piedmontese  brigade  !  "  "  Hurrah  for  the  old 
regiment  637  !  "  shouted  a  gentleman  from  a  window,  and  anl 
othei  cried  :  "Hurrah  for  the  brave  men  of  Calmasino  !  " 

We  reached  the  Via  Santa  Therese,  the  Piazza.  San  Carlo,  then 
the  Piazza  Carlo  Felice  ;  as  we  advanced  my  heart  grew  heavy 
and  my  legs  trembled  :  "  She  will  hear  the  music  and  these 
shouts,  poor  woman  !  " 

I  raised  my  eyes  ;  here  is  the  house  and  an  illuminated  win- 
dow ;  there  is  some  one  there,  but  it  is  not  she  ;  who  can  it 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  3^3 

be  ?  I  cannot  distinguish  the  figure  ;  it  is  waving  its  hands  ; 
looks  down,  "  My  God  !  who  can  it  be  ?  " 

Suddenly  a  light  appeared  at  the  window  below.  "  Ah !  I 
see  ;  it  is  the  old  blind  man.  God  bless  you,  papa  !  " 

Here  was  my  friend  of  the  third  floor ;  he  embraced  me,  kissed 
me,  and  shouted  :  "  Good  luck  to  you,  brother  !  Hurrah  for; 
the  war  !  "  and  disappeared. 

We  entered  the  train  ;  I  put  out  my  head  ;  saw  the  lighted 
window  again,  and  the  old  blind  man,  quite  alone,  who  is  wav- 
ing a  salute.  "  Oh,  will  the  music  never  cease  !  Oh,  my  poor 
mother !  " 

We  heard  the  whistle  ;  the  train  started  ;  my  heart  gave  a 
tremendous  bound.  "Who  else  has  come  to  the  window ? "  I 
saw  two  arms  stretching  out  toward  me  ..."  My  God  ! 
Did  I  hear  a  cry?" 

The  house  disappeared. 

"  Farewell,  my  good  angel !  farewell,  my  holy  and  adored 
mother !  May  heaven  grant  that  I  see  you  again,  or  die  so 
nobly  that  the  pride  of  being  my  mother  will  lighten  the  grief 
of  having  lost  me  !  " 

"  Now  it  's  our  turn  !  "  I  said,  turning  quickly  and  slapping 
my  neighbor  on  his  knee. 

My  friend,  immersed  in  melancholy  at  having  left  his 
sweetheart,  started  suddenly  and  shouted  loudly  :  "  Hurrah  for 
the  war !  " 

Then  all  the  others  cried  :  "  Let  's  light  our  cigars  !  " 

And  in  a  moment  the  carriage  was  filled  with  smoke,  noise, 
and  gaiety. 

THE     CAMPAIGN. 

At  this  point  of  the  book  I  find  a  long  series  of  Alberto's 


3  24  MI  LI  TAR  Y  LIFE. 

letters,  and  beside  some  of  these  the  answers  of  his  mother 
fastened  to  the  leaf.  From  the  examination  of  the  mother's 
writing  you  could  draw  out  the  history  of  the  war  ;  the  trem- 
bling of  her  hand  is  certainly  the  surest  indication  of  events. 
Taking  them  as  a  whole,  her  letters  always  say  the  same 
thing, — it  is  quite  natural ;  but  in  those  of  her  son  there  is 
something  to  -be  noted  here  and  there.  I  will  jot  down  this, 
which  will  form  an  incomplete  and  disjointed  chronicle, 
but  a  truthful  and  lively  one,  of  the  different  events  of  the 
war,  or  rather  of  the  various  impressions  which  some  of 
them  left  on  my  friend's  mind  : 

PIACENZA,  8th  May. 

Piacenza  seems  like  a  barrack.  There  are  more  soldiers  than  citizens, 
and  more  medals  than  soldiers  ;  at  every  step  we  meet  some  one  whose 
breast  is  covered  ;  at  every  turn  there  is  a  general ;  and  as  for  colonels,  they 
do  not  strike  us  as  being  any  thing  at  all  extraordinary.  How  I  feel  my  own 
littleness  among  all  the  gilt  braid  !  Great  military  reunions  have  this  evH, 
that  we  poor  lieutenants  are  not  looked  at  even  ;  in  fact,  we  disappear  en- 
tirely. I  am  joking,  you  know  ;  I  have  you,  my  soldiers,  my  friends  ; 
my  blood  is  full  of  fire,  my  heart  full  of  Italy,  my  soul  full  of  the  future  ; 
I  am  happy,  desire  nothing,  and  envy  no  one.  We  are  quartered  in  a  con- 
vent and  sleep  on  straw.  It  is  a  desperate  sort  of  business  with  those  con- 
scripts who  do  not  know  how  to  dress  themselves,  walk,  or  eat.  Things 
have  been  done  too  hastily.  If  the  war  were  to  begin  to-morrow,  I  tell 
you  we  should  find  ourselves  in  a  sorry  state  ;  half  the  regiment  does  not 
know  how  to  load  ;  there  is  a  great  need  of  provincial  soldiers,  who  are  ex- 
pected. In  the  whole  barracks  they  cannot  find  a  room  for  the  officer  of 
the  guard.  The  other  night  I  took  refuge  in  the  office  of  the 'majority,  and 
I  slept  on  the  registers  .  .  . 

At  the  end  of  the  mother's  reply  I  find  these  words :  "  Be 
careful  not  to  injure  the  registers  ;  they  may  be  important. 
Did  you  think  to  put  something  under  your  head  ?  Erminia  is 
ill  from  the  pain  of  parting  with  you.  The  other  day,  in  dust- 
ing your  things,  she  began  crying.  I  saw  her,  and  said  so.  She 


^DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  325 

denied  it,  but  she  was  really  crying.  You  do  not  yet  know  what 
a  good  heart  she  has."  The  letter  ends  :  "  Where  are  the 
Austrians  ?" 

In  another  of  her  letters  she  puts  this  query :  "  Tell  me,  Al- 
berto ;  they  say  the  Austrian  battalions  are  larger  than  ours. 
How  does  it  happen  ?  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

The  son  replied :  "  We  will  send  two  of  ours  against  one  of 
theirs." 

All  these  letters  and  those  fastened  to  them  are  full  of  affec- 
tionate messages  from  the  old  man  and  the  Neapolitan  lady, 
who  expects  "  great  descriptions  of  great  things."  And  now 
and  then  there  is  a  postscript  from  the  mother,  who  asks : 
"  What  is  the  orderly  doing?" 

I  gather  from  the  book  that  the  colonel — the  "  executioner  " 
— was  at  the  headquarters  of  the  army,  and  from  that  "  superb 
height "  watched  lovingly  over  his  obscure  cousin  by  means  of 
letters  and  indirect  information  ;  but  the  cousin  knew  nothing 
of  it.  The  "executioner"  concealed  the  protector,  so  that  the 
colonel  should  not  appear  in  the  matter ;  and  I  praise  him 
for  it. 

Alberto's  regiment  had  been  encamped  for  four  days  near 
San  Giorgio,  within  a  few  miles  of  Piacenza,  and  he  had  only 
written  to  his  mother  on  the  day  of  his  departure  to  tell  her  that 
he  "  was  to  sleep  under  the  tent." 

"  Four  days  since  he  has  written  !  Poor  Alberto  is  sleeping  on 
the  ground  ;  he  will  suffer  and  be  ill.  Who  knows  what  may 
have  happened  !  Oh,  my  God  !  I  must  telegraph  to  the  colonel 
immediately." 

She  sent  the  dispatch  :  "  Give  me  some  news  of  Alberto,  I 
beg  you.  I  receive  no  letters,  and  am  trembling  for  his 
health." 


326  MILITARY  LIFE. 

The  colonel  instantly  replied  :  "  He  is  very  well.  But  he  is 
so  delicate ! " 

My  mother  understood  the  irony  ;  was  a  trifle  angry ;  seized 
her  pen,  and  began  :  "  My  very  dear  friend,  I  do  not  say  that 
Alberto  is  delicate,  but  I  think  I  might  .  .  ."  She  stops  at 
this  point. 

The  Cugia  division  has  left  for  Cremona  ;  from  Cremona 
it  will  go  to  Goito.  A  letter  from  the  mother  runs  thus : 

"  You  will  say  that  I  am  foolish,  that  I  talk  of  the  things  I  do 
not  understand ;  but  I  certainly  see  no  necessity  for  passing 
the  Mincio  immediately.  If  I  were  General  La  Marmora,  I 
think  I  should  wait  a  little  ;  one  never  knows  what  may  happen  ; 
at  any  rate  I  should  have  General  Cialdini's  soldiers  go  first, 
because  they  have  the  fleet  near  them,  and  in  any  case  .  .  ." 
"Could  they  take  refuge  there?"  asks  Alberto  in  reply.  His 
mother  writes  back  :  "  This  is  no  time  for  joking." 

The  Cugia  division  is  on  the  Mincio.  The  mother's  letter  is 
hastily  written,  is  all  full  of  exclamation  points  and  words  that  run 
into  each  other,  and  lines  and  strokes  that  are  a  finger  in  length. 

"  For  pity's  sake,  my  son,  do  your  duty  ;  I  am  the  first  to 
urge  it ;  but  don't  do  too  much.  .  .  .  Armies  need  officers, 
and  if  the  officers  expose  themselves  more  than  is  necessary, 
what  will  be  the  result  ?  It  will  end  in  the  soldiers  remaining 
without  any  guides  or  discipline,  and  then  .  .  .  what  will 
become  of  the  army  ?  For  pity's  sake,  do  think  a  little  of  the 
soldiers  !  .  .  .  (oh,  maternal  love,  what  subtle  arguments  !) 
and  think  of  me  too  ;  do  your  duty,  yes,  but  think  .  .  ." 
Here  there  are  some  words  which  are  not  comprehensible. 
Then  :  "  Your  life  is  mine.  Oh,  my  son !  what  days  ! 
what  tremendous  moments  !  I  will  not  tell  you  what  is  hap- 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  327 

pening  at  home,  in  order  not  to  sadden  you  ;  I  pray  for  you 
.  .  ."  The  rest  is  incomprehensible.  There  is  a  postscript 
which  begins:  "O  Alberto!"  and  then  there  is  nothing 
more.  I  see  several  curves  traced  by  the  son,  which  at  first 
sight  might  be  taken  for  islands  ;  but  I  fancy  he  intended  to 
draw  lines  around  the  tears  of  his  mother,  and  so  these  figures 
were  the  result. 

Here  I  find  a  page  entitled  :  "  That  which  follows  the  28th 
of  June."  It  says  : 

"  My  mother  was  seated  at  the  dining-table  ;  in  front  of  her 
was  a  young  fellow,  the  son  of  our  Neapolitan  friend,  and  by 
her  side  my  old  papa.  On  the  centre  of  the  table  was  a  topo- 
graphical map. 

"  '  Rest  assured,  dear  madam,'  said  the  young  man,  '  the 
Cugia  division  cannot  have  taken  part  in  the  battle  ;  that  is 
evident.' 

" 4  Oh,  yes  .  .  .  evident ! '  exclaimed  my  mother,  shaking 
her  head  and  passing  one  hand  over  her  tear-stained  eyes. 

'  Yes,  I  believe  it;  but  what  is  the  use  of  my  saying  it  ?  The 
map  proves  it ;  look  at  it.  Oh  !  the  Cugia  division  passed  by,' 
etc.  (she  pressed  and  shook  each  finger  of  the  left  hand  be- 
tween the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  the  right), '  and  it  is  impossi- 
ble that  it  should  have  been  there  at  the  moment  in  which 
Oh,  it  passed  by  another  road,  and  in  this  case  it  is 
not  admissible  that  it  could  have  arrived  in  time.  Finally, 
this  is  the  last,  it  passed  behind  the  division  on  its  left,  and  if 
this  is  true,  it  is  beyond  any  doubt,  quite  clear  and  indisputa- 
ble, that  it  passed  beyond  the  battle-field.  Do  you  not  think 
so,  Engineer  ? ' 

"  The  old  man,  without  having  understood  one  word,  re- 
plied :  '  Oh,  certainly.' 


328  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  My  mother  continued  to  look  attentively  at  the  topographi- 
cal map,  turning  it  round  on  all  sides,  running  over  all  the 
roads  with  her  finger,  raising  her  eyes  as  if  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  and  then  suddenly  broke  out  weeping  :  '  Oh,  yes, 
yes,  it  did  not  arrive  in  time  !  Who  says  so  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
The  map  ?  What  does  the  map  prove  ?  The  map  is  not  enough. 
Meanwhile  three  days  have  passed,  and  he  has  not  written  me 
yet ;  if  something  had  not  happened  I  should  hear,  and  that 
means  that  the  division  did  arrive  in  time,  and  that  he  was 
there,  and  that  .  .  .  Oh,  my  boy  !  My  Alberto  !  My 
poor  Alberto  ! ' 

"  Then  clasping  her  head  in  her  hands  she  burst  into  a  fit  of 
weeping. 

" '  Madam  !  madam  ! '  the  others  exclaimed  in  one  voice, 
1  do  calm  yourself,  for  mercy's  sake,  do  control  yourself  ;  noth- 
ing has  happened,  nothing  can  have  happened  !  Your  mater- 
nal love  .  .  .' 

' '  My  God! '  cried  my  mother  in  a  tone  of  anguish.  '  My  God, 
my  maternal  love  !  But  if  he  has  n't  written  !  But  if  two  of  my 
friends,  with  officer  sons,  have  already  had  news  !  And  I 
nothing  !  Oh,  Erminia  ! '  My  sister  ran  to  her.  '  What  is 
it?' 

"  '  Alberto  !  Alberto  ! ' 

"  '  My  God  !  what  has  happened  ? ' 

"  '  Some  misfortune  !  I  feel  it !  I  shall  die  !  Quick,  a  telegram 
to  the  colonel;  let  him  ask,  search,  and  be  able  to  tell  me  some- 
thing that  will  relieve  my  mind  .  .  .' 

"  Then  came  a  ring  at  the  door.  '  Silence  ! '  The  servant  ap- 
pears. 

"  '  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  madam.' 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN,  329 

"  My  mother  dashes  at  the  woman,  tears  the  letter  from  her, 
looks  at  it,  utters  a  cry,  looks  at  it  again,  presses  it  convulsively 
to  her  heart,  gasps,  smiles,  raises  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  ex- 
claims :  '  Thanks  !  thanks  ! '  then  kisses  and  kisses  again  the 
sheet,  presses  her  daughter's  head  to  her  breast,  and  murmurs 
in  a  feeble  voice  :  '  Alberto  !  '  then  drops  on  to  a  chair.  The 
two  friends  support  her,  and  try  to  take  the  letter  from  her 
hands  ;  but  it  is  quite  in  vain  ;  they  are  like  pincers." 

Here  are  some  extracts  from  the  letter  : 

CERLUNGO,  z^th  June. 

I  have  told  you  all  that  I  have  seen,  which  is  little  ;  I  cannot  account 
for  certain  lapses  in  my  memory,  which,  if  I  did  not  recall  many  other 
things,  would  make  me  think  I  had  lost  all  power  of  retention,  so  strange 
and  incredible  are  they.  I  have  quite  forgotten  where  and  when  my  bat- 
talion stopped  for  the  first  time,  and  I  remember  clearly  a  soldier  of  another 
regiment  whom  I  stopped  and  asked  while  he  was  running  :  "  Where  do 
you  come  from  ?  " — and  he  pointed  to  a  little  house  on  the  slope  of  the 
mountain,  exclaiming  :  "  We  have  made  a  salad oj 'them ,"  which  meant  that 
in  that  house  there  had  been  a  massacre  of  the  Austrians,  and  this  was 
quite  true.  I  remember  another  who  had  a  ball  in  his  finger ;  while  he 
stooped  to  touch  a  dead  man,  he  uttered  a  cry,  looked  around  astonished, 
drawing  his  hand  behind  his  back,  and  murmuring  plaintively:  "// 
hurts  me  !  "  I  remember  my  major's  harangue  to  the  battalion  a  few 
moments  before  we  started;  it  was  singularly  simple  and  laconic.  "Soldiers  !" 
he  said  coldly,  without  even  turning  his  horse  toward  us,  "I  am  afraid  we 
shall  have  nothing  to  do  to-day  ;  but  in  case  we  should  ...  I  believe 
that  ...  we  are  Italians  ;  the  devil  ! "  And  here  he  ended  with  ex- 
actly these  words.  A  short  time  before,  in  handing  his  flask  full  of  rum  to 
a  small  group  of  officers  who  did  not  appear  very  gay,  he  had  said  smilingly  : 
"  Take  some  ;  it  refreshes  weak  spirits  !  " 

I  am  thoroughly  convinced  that  true  courage  conies  from  the  heart  and 
from  culture  of  the  mind ;  and  true  courage  consists  less  in  not  being 
afraid,  than  in  showing  one's  self  and  working,  while  being  so,  as  if  this  were 
really  not  the  case  ;  all  of  which  is  the  effect  of  reasoning,  or  rather  of  an  in- 
finite number  of  reasons,  recollections,  pictures,  and  examples,  which  pass 
through  one's  mind  at  such  moments  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  and 
say  :  "  Be  firm  !  "  Even  entire  strophes  of  patriotic  poetry  pass  through 


330  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  mind  too.  Your  image  passed  with  outstretched  arms,  but  the  forefinger 
pointing  to  the  enemy,  your  tearful  eyes  fastened  on  mine,  and  your  lips 
contracted  with  sobs,  but  which  said  in  a  free  and  vibratory  voice  :  "  Do 
your  duty  !  "  Oh,  mother,  how  near  you  were  to  me  at  those  moments  ! 

.  .  .  Do  not  believe  it  ;  the  dead  do  not  produce  that  horrible  im- 
pression which  is  supposed  to  be  the  case,  at  least  as  long  as  the  danger  lasts. 
My  battalion  was  in  a  column  and  went  forward  ;  the  platoons  stopped 
gradually  on  the  edge  of  a  ditch  to  look  at  the  body  of  a  soldier  whose  head 
had  been  destroyed  by  grape-shot.  I  had  a  tent  stretched  over  it,  and  no 
one  looked  again.  It  is  painful  to  see  those  wounded  soldiers  who,  in  roll- 
ing on  the  ground  and  touching  it  here  and  there,  reduce  their  linen  shirts  and 
trowsers  to  such  a  state  that  not  a  bit  of  the  white  is  left,  every  thing  being 
covered  with  blood  ;  and  generally  they  are  only  slightly  wounded.  At  first  one 
is  so  absorbed  in  the  spectacle  of  the  field  that  he  pays  no  attention,  and  does 
not  even  think  that  there  will  be  any  wounded.  And  it  is  almost  always  a 
surprise  to  see  them  come  down  in  groups,  with  their  heads  bandaged,  arms 
in  slings,  supported  under  the  shoulders,  each  carried  by  two  men,  as  white  as 
death  ;  some  pressing  one  hand  0:1  their  thighs,  some  on  their  chests,  and  nearly 
all  groaning  aloud  or  uttering  feeble  moans  ;  the  breathless  surgeons  running 
here  and  there,  without  knowing  where  to  begin  or  with  whom  ;  then  the  ex- 
amination, washing,  cutting,  hasty  binding  up  of  one  after  the  other,  then  all 
away  to  the  ambulance  ;  then  other  groups,  cries,  and  laments.  Great  God  ! 
what  scenes  !  I  have  seen  a  group  of  soldiers  around  a  surgeon  who  was 
attending  to  a  wounded  man,  and  I  have  heard  the  cry  :  l>  Oh  !  oh  !  "  On  ap- 
proaching I  found  the  wounded  man  already  on  his  feet.  ' '  Go  to  the  ambu- 
lance— go  !"  said  the  doctor.  The  latter  moved  off  with  slow  and  tottering 
steps.  "  Is  he  already  cured?"  Tasked.  "Cured!  He  may  live  a  few 
hours,"  the  doctor  replied.  I  was  astonished.  "They  are  jokes  of  the 
bullets,"  he  added. 

I  have  witnessed  beautiful  examples  of  firmness  and  courage.  A  sharp- 
shooter came  to  have  a  ball  removed  from  his  leg,  and  returned  to  join  his 
battalion  on  the  battle-field.  A  soldier  in  the  infantry,  who  was  seriously 
wounded,  was  brought  in  the  arms  of  two  of  his  comrades.  He  was  very 
pale,  his  eyes  half  closed  ;  he  still  held  a  cigar  stump  in  his  teeth,  and  put  out 
his  under  lip  in  a  nonchalant  and  indifferent  way.  He  passed  near  my  bat- 
talion ;  many  ran  forward  to  see  him.  He  turned  his  eyes  slowly  around, 
and  seeing  that  he  was  watched,  made  a  motion  of  the  mouth  as  if  to  take 
firmer  hold  of  the  cigar,  which  was  falling,  solely  in  order  to  display  more 
sang-froid. 

One  of  my  best  and  dearest  friends  is  dead, — one  of  whom  I  have 
often  spoken  to  you  ;    a  young  sub-lieutenant  of  the  grenadiers,  a  Lom- 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  331 

bardian,  and  very  handsome  fellow,  Edoardo  B.  He  was  in  my  company  at 
college  ;  you  have  a  photograph  of  us  all  taken  together,  hunt  it  up  ;  he  is 
the  first  on  the  right,  seated  on  the  ground  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth — I  re- 
member it  perfectly.  See  how  he  died  :  his  regiment  had  stopped  opposite 
the  enemy's  cannon  ;  he  was  seated  on  a  drum,  with  lowered  head,  and  pok- 
ing the  clod  between  his  feet  with  the  point  of  his  sword.  Suddenly  he 
fell  back  with  a  cry  ;  a  bit  of  grape-shot  had  wounded  him  in  the  chest  and 
killed  the  horse  of  the  adjutant  who  was  behind  him.  lie  died  after  five 
hours  of  horrible  suffering.  Poor  friend  !  Who  could  have  foretold  this 
when  we  were  studying  for  our  last  examinations  at  college,  in  the  wretched 
little  room  on  the  fifth  floor,  by  the  light  of  a  taper,  with  those  copy-books 
and  that  can  of  water  colored  with  smoke  ;  when  you  had  so  many  bright 
hopes  and  were  so  happy  !  .  .  . 

The  answer  to  this  letter  is  from  the  brother  ;  the  mother 
had  gone  into  her  bed  with  a  fever.  "  From  time  to  time,"  the 
brother  writes,  "  she  becomes  delirious  and  calls  you." 

The  army  falls  back  toward  the  Oglio. 

PIADENA,  <->th  July. 

.  .  .  It  is  very  sad  and  painful  to  be  continually  crossing  villages  and 
cities  between  two  rows  of  immovable,  mute,  cold  people,  who  gaze  at  us 
with  staring  eyes,  as  if  we  were  an  unknown  army.  Who  has  courage 
enough  to  raise  his  eyes  to  those  people's  faces  ?  I  seem  to  read  on  every 
countenance:  "Good!  brave!"  Was  it  worth  while  to  make  so  much 
noise  to  cut  such  a  figure  afterward  ?  The  regiments  file  silently  by  with 
lowered  heads,  like  a  procession  of  monks.  It  is  a  sight  that  hurts  me  ; 
my  thoughts  run  back  to  you,  mother  ;  I  need  you  sorely.  Pardon  me  ;  if 
I  could  at  least  have  the  consolation  of  returning  home  without  one  arm,  I 
might  say  :  "I  have  won  one  armless  at  least."  But  to  return  home  un- 
harmed, healthful,  stout,  and  red  enough  to  cause  a  pasha's  envy,  seems 
really  shameful  and  unbearable.  How  much  bile  is  stirred  up  by  this  little 
glass  which,  no  matter  how  hard  I  work,  will  persist  in  showing  one  chin 
below  the  other  !  I  hate  this  insolent,  new-born  creature,  which  seems  to 
laugh  at  the  misfortunes  of  the  country  !  I  am  joking,  but  it  is  an  indigesti- 
ble joke.  We  are  marching  under  the  mid-day  sun  ;  on  the  right  and  left 
of  the  road  are  gardens,  flowery  fields,  and  villas  ;  through  the  garden  gates 
we  see  in  the  distance,  at  the  end  of  the  avenues,  gentlemen  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves stretched  out  under  the  shade  of  the  arbors,  young  ladies  dressed  in 


332  MI  LIT  A  R  Y  LIFE. 

white  wandering;  about  th.2  slopes  among  pines  and  myrtles.  Oh,  happy 
beings  !  Not  because  they  are  in  the  shade  and  rest,  but  because  they  do 
not  bear  on  their  souls  this  terrible  weight  of  discomfort  and  weariness. 


Reply  : — "  I  understand  it  all ;  mothers  understand  every 
thing.  Courage,  my  son  !  " 

The  Cugia  division  is  at  Parma  ;  is  leaving  for  Ferrara. 

PARMA,  lotA  July. 

The  blessed  soldiers  !  We  seem  to  love  them  better  after  these  misfort- 
unes. They  are  always  the  same  ;  always  resigned  and  pood.  On  the 
march,  when  they  begin  to  bend  and  limp,  I  look  at  and  pity  them.  Some- 
times when  some  one  does  any  thing,  I  reason  for  some  time  with  myself  that 
it  is  really  a  case  for  me  to  get  angry,  and  then  I  raise  my  voice  :  "  Come 
now,  it 's  time  to  stop  that !  You  can't  get  on  in  that  way.  You  try  the 
patience  of  a  saint;  now  then  .  .  ."  "  You  impostor  !"  cries  a  voice 
within  me,  "  You  are  not  really  angry."  "  That 's  quite  true,"  I  say,  smiling, 
and  I  stop.  Then  I  propose  not  to  love  them  any  more,  or  at  least  not  to 
show  it,  if  not,  farewell  to  all  discipline.  "We  will  see,"  I  say;  "let  us 
see  if  they  will  succeed  in  melting  this  stony  heart."  Then  I  march  quietly 
on,  with  an  expression  of  face  that  ought  to  arouse  any  amount  of  fear, 
quite  sure  oi  my  victory.  And  here  is  an  example  :  "  Lieutenant,  shall  I 
carry  your  cloak  for  you  ?"  To  which  I  reply  brusquely  :  "No."  "You 
are  tired."  "  No."  "Yes  !  "  "  How  *s  that  ?  You  will  see  if  I  am  tired 
because  you  v;\sh  it !  Back  to  )'our  place  ! "  Another  comes  with  a  canteen. 
"Lieutenant,  this  is  fresh."  "I  don't  wish  any."  "  Try  it."  "  I  won't 
try  it."  "  Only  a  drop,  and  you  will  see."  "  Not  a  drop  !  "  Then  he  puts 
the  canteen  under  my  chin.  "You  will  see  that  it  is  fresh."  "  I  know  how 
to  drink  myself."  I  take  the  leather  bottle,  wet  my  lips,  and  hand  it  back 
to  him.  "Lieutenant!"  "Weil,  what  is  it?"  "You  have  not  drunk." 
"Yes  I  have."  "  Cut  it  is  all  there  !"  and  he  shakes  the  flask.  "Come 
now,  understand  that  I  am  tired  and  cross,  and  that  I  can  bear  nothing 
more  !  Go  to  your  place  this  moment ;  run,  or  I  '11  have  you  put  in  the 
guard-house  in  the  camp  for  fifteen  days.  What  sort  of  way  is  this  ?  "  "Im- 
postor ! "  the  same  voice  repeats.  "  It  is  true,  "  I  reply  again,  and  I  stop. 
"  To-day  the  lieutenant  is  in  bad  humor  !  "  the  soldiers  say.  "  No  !  no  !  " 
I  hastily  say  to  myself  ;  ' '  no,  you  set  of  rascals  !  '' 

Reply  : — "  I  often  tell  your  sister  Erminia,  Alberto  has  really 


,  DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  333 

kept  his  childish  heart.     I  do  not  say  that  it  is  from  any  merit 
of   mine ;    but  nevertheless     .     .     ." 

The   division   has  left  Ferrara  in  the  direction  of  Padua. 

MONSELICK,      .      .      .       July. 

How  sad  it  is  to  march  in  the  rain  !  The  night  had  already  fallen,  and 
we  were  still  four  miles  from  Rovigo,  and  it  was  beginning  to  rain  by  the 
bucketful.  In  a  few  moments  I  found  myself  reduced  to  such  a  state  that  I 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  bath  with  all  my  clothes  on  ;  the  water  ran  in  rivu- 
lets down  my  back  and  chest ;  my  cloak  was  so  soaked  that  it  was  too  heavy 
to  carry  ;  there  were  inches  of  mud  in  the  road ;  so  you  can  picture  our 
condition  !  In  passing,  we  saw  through  the  windows  of  the  peasants'  houses 
"the  gleam  of  the  evening  lamp,"  and  some  shadows  which  appeared 
and  then  vanished.  And  I  thought  how  you,  when  I  was  a  child,  used  to 
push  my  small  bed  near  the  window,  because  I  liked  to  hear  the  rain 
beat  on  the  panes,  and  the  slow,  mournful  whistling  of  the  wind,  put  me 
to  sleep  fancying  frightful  adventures  of  pilgrims  lost  in  the  forests, 
the  mysterious  little  lights  gleaming  from  afar,  and  enchanted,  hospitable 
castles.  "Oh,  poor  boy,  what  a  state  you  are  in!"  you  would  exclaim, 
clasping  your  hands,  if  I  returned  from  school  a  trifle  wet.  Poor  woman,- 
if  you  could  see  me  now  !  It  was  a  day  of  misfortunes.  We  get  near  Rovigo, 
camp  in  a  puddle,  and  away  we  start  into  the  town.  My  friend  and  I  find 
a  wretched  little  room  where  we  can  dry  ourselves  and  rest,  in  the  house  of 
an  excellent  family  ;  we  go  to  bed  and  sleep  ;  all  dash  up  at  nine  o'clock  the 
next  morning  in  order  to  go  to  the  camp  and  start  .  .  .  Heavenly 
Powers  !  I  can't  get  into  my  boots  ;  I  left  them  near  the  fire,  they  have 
shrunk  and  hardened  so  that  a  child's  leg  could  not  get  into  them.  Help 
me,  my  friend,  for  heaven's  sake  !  "  That  I  will !  "  he  exclaims.  Up  go 
his  sleeves,  and  we  both  begin  to  pull,  stop  to  take  breath,  and  go  on  again 
with  fresh  force,  stop  again,  and  try  with  all  the  strength  of  despair.  Oh, 
in  vain  !  The  poor  tormented  legs  relax,  the  exhausted  arms  hang  down, 
and  our  heads  fall  back,  with  our  eyes  starting  out  of  their  sockets,  our 
foreheads  dripping  with  perspiration.  "  There  is  one  more  thing  to  try  !  " 
shouts  my  friend;  "rip  the  boots.  Let  's  rip  them  then!"  We  seize 
scissors  and  penknifes  and  fall  to  work.  But  we  cannot  see  the  stitches, 
and  the  more  we  try  the  less  we  see.  Our  fingers  are  trembling,  the  boots 
slip  from  our  hands,  my  friend  has  cut  himself,  so  have  I  too  ;  and  time  is 
flying  ...  "  Ah,  there  are  the  drums  !  We  are  lost  !  "  The  regiment 
left  without  us,  and  we  joined  it  in  a  carriage  an  hour  after  it  had  camped. 
"  What  was  the  matter?  "  my  friends  asked.  I  reply  by  showing  them  my 


334  MILITARY  LIFE. 

feet,  which  I  had  stuck  into  the  first  pair  of  boots  that  the  first  shoemaker  in 
Rovigo,  whom  we  had  sent  for  in  haste,  had  put  into  my  hands.  They  were 
a  spectacle  !  A  moment  later,  and  a  warrant  for  arrest  was  served  upon  my 
friend  and  self.  As  soon  as  I  entered  the  tent,  I  dashed  those  boots  on  to 
the  ground,  shouting  as  I  did  so  :  "  There,  you  hangmen  !  "  "  But  why  did  n't 
you,  who  had  no  trouble  with  your  boots,  come  on  ?  "  asked  the  colonel 
of  my  friend  later.  "  Colonel,"  he  replied  with  the  utmost  gravity,  "  I  have 
never  abandoned  my  friends  in  misery." 

Reply  :  "  How  many  times  have  I  preached  to  you,  from 
your  childhood  up,  against  that  wretched  practice  of  wearing 
tight  shoes  !  What  will  your  colonel  have  said  of  you  !  But 
wasn't  there  at  least  a  woman  with  some  head  in  that  house 
at  Rovigo  who  could  have  helped  you  out  of  your  difficulty  ? 
It  seems  impossible !  Not  one  with  any  common-sense  !  " 

IN  THE  NEIGHBORHOOD  OF  MESTRE,  zotk  July. 
.  .  I  have  seen  Venice  in  the  distance.  I  did  not  believe  it  possi- 
ble that  I  could  so  love  a  city  as  to  experience  in  seeing  it  the  same  senti- 
ment produced  upon  one  by  the  inamorata.  In  first  seeing  it  so  stupendous, 
yet  so  lovely,  that  it  seems  floating  on  the  sea,  not  even  a  "  hurrah  !  "  came 
to  my  lips,  nor  a  ' '  beautiful  !  "  as  would  have  seemed  most  natural ;  there 
came  a  more  affectionate  and  sweeter  word,  and  I  exclaimed:  "Dear 
one  \"  A  friend  says  that  Venice,  seen  from  such  a  distance  at  evening, 
produces  upon  him  the  effect  of  a  pale,  melancholy  child  leaning  on  a  win- 
dow-sill, with  its  head  reclining  on  its  hand,  and  looking  fixedly  at  the  hori- 
zon of  the  sea,  like  one  who  is  thinking  and  waiting.  And  hardly  had  I  seen 
it  when  I  shouted:  "  I  love  thee!"  Such  is  the  sentiment  which  Venice 
inspires  at  a  distance  ;  within  it  may  be  grandiose  and  magnificent  and  pro- 
duce an  imposing  effect  ;  but  seen  from  here  it  softens  and  enamours  one. 
Dear  mother,  you  have  a  formidable  rival.  .  .  . 

These  Venetian  peasants  are  capital  people.  I  was  on  guard  near  a  hut, 
was  sleepy,  and  rapped  at  the  door  to  ask  shelter  ;  it  was  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  A  woman  opens  the  door,  shows  me  into  the  first  room, 
brings  me  a  straw  mattress,  a  coverlid,  a  pillow,  wishes  me  good-night,  and 
goes  away.  I  lie  down  and  sleep  like  a  prince.  In  the  morning,  as  soon  as 
I  am  awake,  I  go  to  the  other  room  to  thank  my  hostess,  and  see  her 
asleep  stretched  on  the  ground,  on  a  little  straw,  with  two  children,  one  in 
her  arms,  the  other  at  her  side,  without  a  sheet,  pillow,  or  even  a  rag  of 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  335 

covering  ;  she  had  given  every  thing  to  me.  I  was  so  filled  with  remorse, 
anger,  and  shame,  I  called  myself  an  unnatural  brute,  villain,  coward,  etc. 
.  .  .  I  shall  never  think  of  that  night  without  pain." 

Reply  (oh,  you  pious  but  pitiless  person  !)  :  "  You  certainly 
were  a  trifle  wrong  but  ...  in  the  end  you  were  tired 
and  were  obliged  to  rise  early,  while  that  woman  had  slept  up 
to  that  time  and  could  sleep  afterward.  However,  be  more 
careful  another  time." 

IN  THE  VICINITY  OF  MESTRE,    .     .     .    August. 

Listen  to  this  which  is  quite  new.  Day  before  yesterday  I  was  on  the 
outposts  of  the  Malghera  side.  On  going  off,  perhaps  a  hundred  paces 
from  the  guard,  I  saw  three  ladies  coming  toward  me  ;  one  of  them  el- 
derly, the  other  two  very  young  (they  were  her  daughters),  very  beautiful, 
and  vivacious.  All  three  stopped  in  front  of  me  and  made  a  bow,  asked 
after  my  health,  said  they  had  run  off  from  Venice,  were  going  to  Mestre, 
wished  to  get  to  Padua  to  their  relatives,  and  that  meanwhile  they  were 
very  glad  to  meet  an  Italian  officer — they  had  seen  no  one  as  yet,  I  being 
the  first.  They  gave  me  a  cordial  greeting,  walk  around  me,  overwhelmed  me 
with  courtesy,  laughed,  clasped  their  hands  in  sign  of  admiration  and  surprise, 
and  all  this  with  an  ingenuity  and  grace  that  were  really  charming.  After 
I  had  thanked  all  three  with  the  greatest  effusion,  the  mamma  turned  to 
the  girls  and  said  :  "  Show  him  what  you  have  under  your  skirts."  "  Oh, 
the  devil !  "  I  thought.  The  girls  hesitated.  "  Courage  ;  lift  them  !  "  "  Lift 
them  ! ''  I  thought  again.  ' '  Courage  ;  what  's  there  to  be  ashamed  of  ?  "  I 
fell  from  the  clouds.  The  girls  hesitated  a  trifle  longer,  then,  laugh- 
ing and  covering  their  faces  with  one  hand,  they  both,  while  making  me  a 
graceful  bow,  delicately  drew  up  the  skirts  of  their  dresses  and  displayed 
beautiful  petticoats  made  in  three  pieces,  one  green, one  white,  and  one  red, 
with  a  great  white  cross  in  the  middle.  .  . 

Reply  :  "  What  was  that  lady  doing  with  her  daughters 
among  all  you  men  ?  Do  be  judicious.  I  tell  you  so  be- 
cause you  have  so  little  prudence. 

PADUA,  ^tk  September. 

I  was  seized  by  the  fever,  came  to  Padua,  and  am  in  the  hospital 
of  the  Fate-bene-fratelli.  They  have  taken  care  of  me.  I  am  well,  and 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

to-morrow  I  return  to  my  regiment.  That  's  all.  I  wished  to  write  you 
when  it  was  all  over,  so  as  to  prevent  you  from  coming  here,  as  I  knew  you 
would  be  sure  to  do.  Now  you  can  get  angry,  cry,  write,  protest  :  it  's  all 
the  same  ;  it  is  over ;  and  you  must  be  resigned.  Do  as  I  wish,  dear 
mother  ;  thank  God  that  it  has  only  been  the  fever  ;  think  of  the  poor  young 
fellows  whom  I  have  around  me  ;  some  wounded  by  balls,  some  by  bayonets, 
condemed  to  stay  in  bed  who  knows  how  many  more  months,  and  fortunate  are 
they  who  will  ever  be  able  to  rise  again.  I  have  before  me  a  lieutenant  in 
the  grenadiers,  a  Lombardian,  who  had  received  a  bayonet  wound  in  his 
chest,  at  Custoza,  from  a  sergeant  of  the  Croats,  yet  despite  his  wound  he 
did  not  wish  to  leave  the  field.  He  showed  me  his  coat,  still  stained  with 
blood.  He  is  almost  well,  gets  up,  walks,  but  when  he  wakes,  the  motion 
he  makes  in  sitting  up  in  bed  causes  him  intense  pain.  He  related  the 
affair  to  me  :  "I  remember  very  little,"  he  said,  "  I  remember  as  if  in  a 
dream  having  seen  four  or  five  horribly  distorted  faces  running  toward  us, 
uttering  a  prolonged  shout,  and  one  of  them  looked  at  me.  I  shall  always 
have  before  me  those  two  staring  eyes  and  the  point  of  the  bayonet  ;  he  was 
a  tall,  black  man,  with  a  huge  moustache.  I  do  not  recollect  how  he  suc- 
ceeded in  wounding  me.  I  remember  that  a  young,  beardless  Austrian  offi- 
cer, with  an  effeminate  face,  passed  before  me,  waving  his  sword,  and 
shouting  desperately  :  '  Jesus  Maria  !  Jesus  Maria  ! '  He  passed  and 
disappeared.  Him  I  always  see  and  should  easily  recognize.  Several  days 
later,  being  in  Ihe  hospital  with  the  fever  and  delirium,  my  ears  were  filled 
by  those  shouts  and  the  sound  of  the  clashing  muskets,  and  in  the  distance 
I  saw  a  gleaming  point  come  slowly  forward  in  the  direction  of  my  heart,  as 
if  it  were  looking  at  me  in  order  to  recognize  me.  Then  I  suddenly  felt  it, 
cold  and  hard,  entering  my  flesh,  staying  there  for  some  time,  and  then  go- 
ing farther  clown.  It  will  seem  odd  to  you  ;  but  for  many  days,  at  every 
sudden  noise  I  heard,  the  beating  of  the  blinds  or  the  falling  of  a  chair.  I 
felt  a  shudder  run  through  my1  entire  frame  .  .  ."  This  poor  fellow,  despite 
his  wound,  jumped  out  of  his  bed  in  his  shirt  the  other  night  and  came  and 
asked  me  if  I  needed  any  thing,  because  he  fancied  that  he  heard  me  groan. 
I  'was  mortified.  The  idea  of  a  simple  fever  patient  being  the  cause  of  a 
wounded  man's  putting  himself  out  for  him  ',.  From  that  night  forward,  at 
every  noise  he  made,  if  he  were  only  snoring,  I  jumped  up  and  went  to  him. 
The  headquarters  of  the  army  are  at  Padua,  you  know.  Yesterday,  while  I 
was  dosing,  I  saw  a  breast  covered  with  medals  and  crosses  gleaming  before 
me  ;  I  looked  ;  it  was  the  executioner.  He  remained  an  hour.  T  began  talking 
about  the  war  ;  he  let  the  conversation  drop,  and  never  smiled,  for  he  was 
very  sad.  He  left  me  with  several  warm  pressures  of  the  hand,  saying,  as 
he  did  so,  most  gravely :  "Be  strong  ! " 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  337 

The  reply  is  a  violent  protest,  which  gradually  diminishes  in 
strength  from  the  first  to  the  last  word,  although  it  begins  : 
"  You  are  unworthy  of  the  immense  love  I  bear  you.  Heaven 
is  very  cruel  to  me  .  .  ."  and  ends  :  "  Heaven  be  praised, 
fot  I  see  that  it  protects  you  ;  and  receive  every  blessing,  my 
good  Alberto  !  " 

MARTELLAGO,  z^th  September. 

Finally  !  We  are  quartered  for  the  first  time  at  Martellago,  a 
short  distance  from  Mestre.  I  have  a  room,  a  bed,  a  table,  and  a  looking, 
glass  !  Oh,  more  than  human  felicity  !  You  cannot  understand,  my  dear, 
what  it  means  for  us  to  possess  a  bit  of  house  after  so  many  months  that  we  have 
been  sleeping  on  the  ground,  and  washing  our  faces  in  the  running  brooks. 
"  It  is  mine  ! "  I  exclaim,  measuring  the  length  and  breadth  of  my  room  in 
slow,  grave  steps,  and  turning  to  look  at  the  walls.  "  It  is  mine  ;  I  pay  for 
it,  walk  in  it,  enjoy  it,  and  carry  the  key  about  in  my  pocket."  The  first 
evening,  -in  getting  into  bed,  I  experienced  a  certain  embarrassment  and  re- 
straint ;  I  felt  like  a  peasant  who  has  secretly  crept  into  the  drawing-room 
of  his  master,  and  that  at  any  moment  I  might  receive  a  shower  of  blows. 
Then  when  I  had  placed  my  knee  on  the  edge  and  felt  it  giving  way, 
I  thought  I  was  falling,  held  back,  smiled,  and  climbed  up  again,  with  a  sur- 
prise and  pleasure  which  recalled  that  which  I  felt  as  a  boy  on  opening  the 
box  from  which  jumped  the  Sabine  magician  with  the  long  beard.  What 
a  delicious  sleep  !  What  a  joyful  awakening  !  .  .  .  A  room  !  But  I 
nm  a  king  !  I  wish  to  amuse  myself,  to  play  the  young  lord,  and  enjoy  life. 
I  have  begun  already.  I  have  had  my  coffee  brought  to  my  bed  ;  have 
bathed  and  dressed  slowly,  gaping  in  a  luxurious  manner,  and  asking  at 
every  moment  about  the  weather  and  time.  I  have  had  the  impertinence  to 
send  foi  the  barber  of  the  place  and  receive  him  stretched  out  in  an  arm- 
chair ;  of  lighting  a  cigar,  and  opening  a  book  ...  It  is  truly  a  fine  thing 
to  revel  in  ease  and  luxury  !  My  dear,  would  you  believe  that  I  love  my 
little  room  enough  to  look  out  for  the  symmetrical  arrangement  of  the 
chairs  ?  You  will  laugh,  yet.  .  .  .  Now  I  begin  to  understand  why  you 
women  so  love  your  houses.  I  will  never  laugh  again  at  your  care  that  every 
thing  should  be  in  its  glace  bright  and  shining.  How  many  things  tent 
life  teaches ! 

Reply  :  "  I  should  not  consider  a  tent  necess"ary  in  order 
to  understand  some  things  !  Sleep  with  your  window  closed ; 


33**  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  first  days  of  September  are  not  ones  in  which  to  take  air  ; 
if  you  have  not  enough  blankets,  ask  the  landlady  for  more. 
Apropos:  Is  your  landlady  young?  Married?  Has  she 
children  ?  What  kind  of  a, woman  is  she  ?  These  landladies 
always  make  me  anxious,  because  they  are  generally  too  much 
inclined  to  meddle  in  affairs  which  do  not  concern  them. 
You  are  a  blessed  boy  !  " 

MARTELLAGO,  \blh  September. 

.  .  .  It  is  strange,  that  is  to  say,  it  is  most  natural,  but  at  first  it 
seemed  strange  to  me,  that  among  us,  after  a  campaign,  even  those  who 
seemed  the  coldest,  most  thoughtless,  most  sceptical,  really  feel  a  powerful 
need  of  affection,  and  speak  at  every  moment  and  with  every  one  of  their 
family  (many  had  even  forgotten  that  they  had  any),  and  write  here  and 
there,  preserve  their  letters  religiously,  and  beg  their  distant  friends  to  send 
them  photographs,  and  hunt  up  some  sort  of  a  love  affair  on  sea  or  on 
land.  These  changes  generally  follow  in  the  quickest  and  liveliest  manner 
after  an  unfortunate  war,  be  it  understood.  Some  have  gone  to  dig  up  dis- 
tant cousins,  whose  name  they  do  not  know,  and  have  begun  a  most  des- 
perate correspondence  with  them.  These  young  lady  cousins,  surprised  and 
touched  by  the  sudden  and  passionate  expansion  of  those  hearts,  reply  in  a 
most  ardent  manner  ;  the  irons,  as  the  saying  is,  become  heated,  and  I  fore- 
see marriages.  Wars  take  many  sons  from  the  country  ;  but  they  prepare 
many.  If  you  could  see  them  as  I  do,  certain  Don  Juans  of  eighteen, 
regular  debauchees,  who  some  months  since  placed  the  bottle,  cigar,  and 
the  blonde  or  brunette  above  all  human  affections  and  happiness  ;  if  you 
could  see  them  at  evening,  leaning  on  the  window-sill,  looking  at  the  moon 
with  melancholy  eyes,  and  complaining  to  us  :  "  She  has  not  written  me 
for  two  days."  Yes,  it  is  useless  to  deny  it.  Woman  is  always  our  most 
revered  sovereign  and  mistress  ;  ambition ,  glory,  any  other  expected  or  hoped- 
for  felicity,  may  sometimes  illude  us  sufficiently  to  make  us  believe  that  we  can 
do  without  her ;  hide  her,  so  to  speak,  from  our  mind's  eye  and  from  the 
desires  of  our  heart ;  but  then  .  .  .  She  does  not  stop  us,  as  Manzoni 
says,  in  the  superb  journey  : 

But  marks  us  ;  watches  and  waits. 
But  catches  us    ... 

Oh,  yes,  she  always  catches  us  ! 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  339 

Reply  :  "Whom  have  you  been  digging  up  ?  For  pity  sake, 
do  be  careful ;  do  be  judicious  !  " 

\7tk  September, 

.  ,  .  Another  strange  phenomenon  to  be  noted  after  a  war,  is  the 
passion  for  reading  which  awakes  again  in  all,  even  in  the  most  indifferent, 
either  by  nature  or  from  lack  of  culture,  to  this  kind  of  occupation  and 
pleasure.  All  read  and  hunt  up  books;  the  parish  priest  is  obliged  to 
put  in  circulation  all  the  books  in  his  library.  With  me,  who  always 
go  to  extremes,  as  you  say,  it  has  become  a  regular  mania  ;  it  is  no 
longer  a  desire  for  books,  but  a  genuine  hunger.  Yet  I  am  always  faithful 
to  my  old  friend.  During  all  the  leisure  hours  of  the  day  and  evening  I 
read  and  re-read,  thinking  over  and  analyzing  that  blessed,  much-beloved 
novel  "  I  Promessi  Sposi."  My  eternal  companion  and  friend,  source  of  so 
much  sweetness,  consolation,  and  of  that  even  and  sweet  tranquillity  of  heart 
and  soul,  in  which  every  affection  of  mine  is  purified  and  strengthened,  each 
thought  elevated,  and  things,  men,  the  world,  and  life  are  presented  to  my 
mind  under  their  best  aspect,  all  surrounded  by  love  and  hope.  I  do  not 
know  how  it  is,  but  I  feel  that  I  love  my  country,  my  regiment,  you,  my 
friends,  better  and  more  nobly,  in  thinking  over  that  gospel  of  literature. 
And  there  is  not  one  page  with  which  there  is  not  connected  some  souvenir 
of  our  first  readings  ;  when  you  held  the  book  on  your  knee,  I  read  and  you 
listened,  my  tears  falling  on  your  hands,  and  at  certain  points  we  closed  the 
book  and  kissed  each  other.  If  I  read  it  in  my  room  I  left  it  and  came  to 
hunt  you  up  so  as  to  cry  in  your  arms.  I  have  this  book  before  me  ;  I  hold 
it  in  my  hands,  pressing  it  to  my  heart,  and  say  to  it:  "  By  all  the  tears 
thou  hast  caused  my  mother  and  me  to  shed,  by  all  the  holy  affections  that 
thou  hast  roused  and  kept  alive  in  my  soul,  by  all  the  love  that  thou  hast  in- 
spired in  men,  life  and  noble  and  good  things,  I  swear  to  thee,  as  thou  wert 
the  first  book  I  read,  so  shalt  thou  be  the  last,  and  as  long  as  my  hand  can 
hold  thee,  my  eye  see  thee,  I  will  always  seek  Ihee,  thee  always,  oh,  book 
of  paradise  !  " 

After  this  letter  there  is  the  announcement  of  the  departure 
from  Martellago,  and  then,  day  by  day,  a  notice  of  fresh  de- 
partures and  arrivals,  from  Padua  to  Rovigo,  from  Rovigo  to 
Pontelagoscuro,  from  Pontelagoscuro  to  Ferrara,  from  Ferrara 
to  Modena,  and  from  Modena  to  Parma. 


340  MILITARY  LIFE. 

PARMA,  i6(A  October. 

Just  hear  what  a  trick  that  rascal  of  an  orderly  has  played  me.  Two 
weeks  ago,  his  saint's  name-day  coming  around,  I  got  a  bottle  of  barfora 
from  the  sutler,  fastened  a  piece  of  paper  around  the  neck  on  which  was 
written:  "San  Remigio,"  and  seizing  a  moment  when  he  was  absent, 
put  it  into  his  tent.  I  heard  nothing  of  it  ;  he  did  not  thank  me  ; 
nor  gave  any  sign,  so  I  fancied  some  one  must  have  stolen  it  from  him. 
Last  evening,  on  returning  from  a  walk  outside  the  camp,  I  enter  the  tent 
and  see  at  my  place  a  great  pile  of  fresh  straw  well  gathered  and  scattered, 
so  that  it  seemed  as  if  just  taken  out  of  a  sack.  In  the  place  where  I  put 
my  head,  the  image  of  a  saint  hung  from  the  tent-pole,  with  leaves  and 
flowers  around  it,  a  little  wax  taper  burning  before  it  ;  by  the  side,  on  the 
cover  of  the  trunk,  a  wooden  box,  made  with  a  knife,  which  might  have 
passed  for  a  cigar-holder  ;  under  the  case  a  bundle  of  cigars  tied  with  a  red 
ribbon.  I  look  at  the  image  ;  above  it  is  written  :  "  Santa  Teresa  "  ;  I 
look  at  the  box — ' '  Santa  Teresa  "  ;  I  look  at  the  ribbon  holding  the  cigars — 
"  Santa  Teresa."  Imagine  how  touched  I  was.  I  did  not  think  that  this 
poor  young  fellow,  besides  being  so  good,  could  be  so  delicate  too  as  to  honor, 
and  fete  my  mother's  name  instead  of  mine. 

The  mother's  reply  is  a  regular  box  on  the  ear  to  the  regula- 
tion of  discipline.  If  Alberto's  soldier  had  suddenly  become  a 
general,  she  could  not  have  written  in  any  other  way.  And  it 
would  seem  that  Signer  Remigio  was  not  illy  recompensed  for 
his  delicacy,  as  one  day  he  presented  himself  before  the  officer 
with  a  letter  from  home  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  quite  moist,  and 
thanked  him  at  length  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"I  understand,"  said  Alberto  to  himself  when  he  had 
finished  ;  "  the  two  mothers  have  become  friends." 

From  Parma  to  Piacenza,  from  Piacenza  to  Pavia,  from 
Pavia  to  Bergamo  ;  fifteen  days'  more  march,  half  of  which 
was  in  the  rain.  "  I  am  thinking  of  the  state  of  your  poor 
feet,"  says  a  letter  from  the  mother,  "  and  I  can  do  nothing 
but  send  you  sighs  of  pain."  "  Send  me  some  cotton  stock- 
ings," replies  the  son. 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  341 

Bergamo  was  the  last  station,  from  which  Alberto's  narrative 
begins  again. 

THE   RETURN. 

It  was  during  the  last  days  of  December  ;  I  was  still  at 
Bergamo  with  my  regiment,  amusing  myself  with  books  during 
the  garrison  duty,  which  always  is  (but  especially  after  a  war) 
monotonous  and  wearying  enough  to  drive  one  crazy.  I  did 
not  even  think  of  returning  home,  because  the  time  for  long 
leaves  had  not  arrived,  and  I  had  heard  that  the  colonel  did 
not  wish  to  grant  short  ones,  else  all  of  us  would  have  asked 
for  them.  Nevertheless,  my  mother  continued  to  write  me 
that,  absolutely  and  at  any  cost,  she  wished  to  see  me,  and 
could  not  bear  the  separation  any  longer,  to  which  I  replied  : 
"Be  patient ;  wait  a  little  longer,"  and  she  :  "  It  is  impossible  "  ; 
and  I  wrote  the  same  again  in  order  to  quiet  her,  and  mean- 
while days  and  weeks  passed. 

One  fine  morning  I  hear  some  one  rapping  at  my  door  ;  I 
open  it,  and  whom  do  I  see,  but  the  colonel ! 

He  salutes  me  with  the  utmost  gravity,  will  not  sit  down, 
says  that  he  has  come  direct  from  Venice,  is  on  his  way  to 
Milan,  and  that  he  had  good  news  of  my  family.  ...  At 
this  point  he  looked  me  firmly  in  the  face,  and  said  with  a  cer- 
tain air  of  pity  and  reproof :  "  I  understand  that  you  have  a 
perfect  mania  for  returning  home." 

"  Eh  !      After  a  campaign  !  "  I  replied  humbly. 

"  Campaign  !  campaign  !  "  he  repeated  angrily  ;  "  don't  you 
call  it  that  ;  there  have  been  four  bad  marches  and  four  badly 
fired  shots." 

I  was  silent.  He  continued  in  the  most  serious  way  :  "  Get 
into  the  habit  of  considering  the  regiment  your  family." 


342  MILITARY  LIFE. 

I  remained  silent,  and  he  went  on  : 

"  You  really  ought  to  go  through  a  campaign  of  at  least  five 
years  in  India,  in  order  to  harden  that  small  waxen  heart  of 
yours,  and  accustom  yourself  to  the  life  of  a  soldier,  of  which 
you  know  nothing  yet,  allow  me  to  inform  you." 
,     I  still  kept  silent,  so  he  continued: 

"  All  this  impatience,  this  great  need  to  attach  yourself  again 
to  the  apron-strings,  in  fact,  to  return  home,  is  any  thing  but 
soldier-like." 

I  was  still  perfectly  mute.  A  brief  pause  followed,  and  he 
added,  his  voice  growing  almost  imperceptibly  sweeter  : 

"  I  have  spoken  to  your  colonel,  and  he  has  given  you  five 
days'  leave  ;  you  can  go  immediately." 

I  fell  from  the  clouds ;  wished  to  express  my  gratitude,  to 
tell  him  that  I  was  indebted  to  him  for  a  great  happiness,  which 
I  should  always  remember ;  but  he  stopped  me  short  in  telling 
me  to  start  instantly ;  took  his  leave,  and  turned  back  at  the 
door  once  more  to  say  : 

"Be  a  soldier!" 

Then  he  went  away.  I  gave  a  jump  that  nearly  broke 
through  the  floor,  and  shouted  :  "  Remigio  !  "  Remigio  came. 
"  Pack  my  valise  instantly."  When  he  knew  where  I  was 
going  he  seemed  happier  than  I.  "  What  a  delight  for  your 
mother  !  I  can  almost  see  her."  "  Put  in  the  image  of 
'  Santa  Teresa,'  the  dried  flowers,  the  box,  and  the  cigars." 
He  looked  at  me  in  astonishment.  "Ah,  you  don't  know 
where  they  are  !  Here  they  are."  And  opening  a  small 
casket  that  I  always  kept  closed,  I  took  and  handed  him 
every  thing.  "  Did  you  save  them  all  ?  "  exclaimed  that  good 
soldier,  clasping  his  hands  in  surprise  ;  and  he  continued,  look- 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  343 

ing  for  some  time,  first  at  me  and  then  at  the  things,  smiling 
and  exclaiming  affectionately  :  "  And  the  dried  flowers  too  !  " 

Of  all  that  I  did  before  leaving  I  remember  nothing  save 
that,  after  visiting  the  colonel,  I  spun  around  the  city  like  a 
top,  took  all  the  friends  whom  I  met  by  the  arm,  not  refraining 
from  magnifying  the  beauties  of  Bergamo  :  "  Look,  what  a  sky  ! 
Look  at  the  hills  !  What  a  superb  plain  !  "  And  my  friends 
shrugged  their  shoulders.  The  orderly  accompanied  me  to 
the  station  ;  I  paid  for  my  ticket  and  forgot  to  take  the 
change  ;  I  sent  a  dispatch  to  my  mother,  saying  some  ridicu- 
lous thing  to  the  operator,  who  was  good  enough  to  laugh  ;  I 
smoked,  or  rather  bit  up,  two  or  three  cigars  in  a  few  moments, 
and  finally  ..."  Mr.  Lieutenant,"  said  the  orderly,  hand- 
ing me  my  valise  when  the  bell  began  ringing,  "  be  kind  enough 
to  give  my  compliments  to  your  mother,  and  tell  her  that  I  have 
never  forgotten  her  kindness  to  me  and  mine,  and  that  I  have 
always — " 

"  That  you  have  always  been  fond  of  her  ;  yes,  say  it,  my 
good  Remigio  ;  I  will  not  forget  any  thing.  Au  revoir.  Good- 
by." 

"  A  pleasant  journey,  lieutenant !  " 

The  train  was  already  in  motion  ;  I  put  my  head  out  of  the 
window,  and  saw  my  orderly  standing  behind  the  station  gate  ; 
as  soon  as  he  perceived  me  he  raised  his  hand  to  his  cap,  and 
kept  it  there  until  I  disappeared. 

I  was  due  in  Turin  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

When  we  reached  the  station  at  Milan,  I  saw  a  battalion  of  in- 
fantry which  was  just  getting  into  the  same  train.  I  recognized 
an  officer,  one  of  my  friends,  and  called  him.  "  We  are  going  to 
Turin,"  he  said.  "  We  are  waiting  for  them  to  add  other  car- 


344  MILITARY  LIFE. 

riages  ;  we  have  the  colonel  and  staff  with  us ;  the  headquar- 
ters of  the  regiment  will  remain  at  Turin  ;  they  write  us  from 
there  of  all  sorts  of  ovations  at  the  station.  .  .  .  Only  that 
was  lacking  !  Applause  produces  a  much  worse  effect  upon 
me  than  hisses.  Oh,  hopes  !  I  shall  send  in  my  resignation, 
go  and  play  communal  counsellor  in  my  own  little  town,  be 
captain  of  the  national  guard,  subscribe  to  the  Official  Gazette, 
wear  trowsers  large  at  the  bottom,  take  a  wife  and  tobacco,  and 
die  a  chevalier.  That 's  my  destiny.  '  Good-by." 

His  regiment,  whose  number  I  have  forgotten,  behaved 
superbly  at  the  battle  of  Custoza. 

That  journey  from  Milan  to  Turin  was  unending.  "  What  a 
torment,"  I  said,  "  to  stay  cooped  up  in  this  cage  of  a  carriage  ! 
There  is  no  air,  one  cannot  breathe  ;  there  ought  to  be  some 
place  above.  Well,  meanwhile  let  us  enjoy  our  arrival  in  fancy. 
Let  us  suppose  that  we  have  already  reached  the  station.  No, 
it  is  too  soon  ;  I  wish  to  enjoy  it  slowly.  Let  us  suppose  that 
we  are  outside  the  circuit  of  Turin,  far  outside.  The  train 
goes  slowly  on  ;  here  'is  the  enclosure  ;  oh,  what  a  breath  ! 
Here  are  the  first  walls  of  the  station  .  .  .  but  no,  let  us 
suppose  that  there  is  some  hindrance ;  let  us  stop  ;  this  cursed 
train  is  going  too  fast.  Forward,  we  are  entering  the  station, 
the  train  stops  ;  no,  not  yet  !  What  importunate  haste  !  Let 
me  enjoy  it  at  my  leisure  ;  so  ;  slowly.  My  heavens  !  here  I 
am  getting  out,  there  are  all  the  people  who  are  waiting,  here 
.  .  .  How  warm  I  am  with  this  heavy  cloak  !  But  how 
can  you  others  sleep  ?"  I  said,  looking  at  the  other  travellers. 
"  How  can  you  sleep  with  this  fever  that  I  am  in  ?  " 

Ah,  it  is  no  longer  fancy !  Here  are  the  beautiful  hills  of 
Turin,  here  the  boundaries,  here  the  fields,  houses,  the  first  walls 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  345 

of  the  station,  and  the  three  palaces  of  the  Via  Nizza  !  Here  is 
that  window  !  Heavens  !  who  is  at  the  window,  who  is  raising 
and  dropping  his  arms  by  way  of  a  salute  !  It  is  he  !  it  is  he  ! 
it  is  papa !  What  do  I  hear  and  see  ?  The  music !  the 
torches  !  Every  thing  just  as  on  that  evening  !  The  train  stops, 
I  spring  to  the  ground,  run  out,  here  is  the  crowd,  here 
they  all  are.  They  have  seen  me,  and  open  their  arms  . 
Ah,  my  mother  !  I  still  feel  around  my  neck  the  firm  pressure 
of  those  two  trembling  arms,  I  hear  that  music,  and  still  see  that 
light. 

We  are  at  the  house  door,  it  opens,  I  throw  myself  into  the 
arms  of  my  good  papa,  who  is  laughing  and  crying,  without 
being  able  to  utter  one  word  ;  here  are  all  his  grandchildren,  a 

* 

kiss  for  each,  and  such  a  hearty  one  that  it  will  leave  a  mark  ; 
here  is  the  Neapolitan  lady  and  her  son.  "  Thanks  for  the 
topographical  map,"  I  say,  and  they  all  laugh.  Other  neighbors 
arrive  ;  I  am  able  to  hear  the  impetuous  assault  of  all  kinds  of 
greetings,  congratulations,  pressures  of  the  hand,  and  questions  ; 
my  mother  catches  hold  of  me,  disputes  the  possession  of  me 
with  all,  looks  at  me,  touches  my  arms,  hands,  and  shoulders  to 
see  if  all  of  me  has  returned  ;  my  sisters  take  turns  in  em- 
bracing me,  and  come  and  kiss  me  over  again  ;  the  children 
jump  around  me — and  it  is  a  regular  fete. 

Finally,  little  by  little,  the  neighbors  and  friends  go  away ; 
my  eldest  sister  returns  to  her  home,  the  other  goes  to  bed, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  ;  my  brother  leaves  the  house,  and  only 
my  mother  and  I  remain. 

Hardly  are  we  alone,  when  we  sit  down  opposite  each  other, 
drawing  our  chairs  close  together  and  seizing  each  other's  hands, 
as  if  we  were  lovers  when  left  without  any  lookers  on,  and  my 


346  MILITARY  LIFE. 

mother,  giving  a  long  sigh,  in  which  one  can  hear  the  whole 
history  of  the  war,  begins  to  say,  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion  : 
"What  days  I  have  passed,  my  son  ;  what  anxiety,  what  terrible 
heart-beats  !  I  did  not  write  it  for  fear  of  saddening  you  ;  but 
this  house  seemed  deserted  after  your  departure.  When  I 
could  no  longer  hear  your  hastening  step  on  the  stairs  at  the 
usual  hour,  your  gay  voice,  and  that  tug  at  the  bell,  which 
made  all  run  to  see  who  would  arrive  first  ;  the  not  being 
obliged  to  keep  near  you  so  that  you  should  not  forget  the 
hour  for  the  parade-ground.  .  .  .  What  fearfully  long 
evenings  ?  And  then  the  days  which  followed  !  If  the  sun 
shone, '  Poor  Alberto,'  I  thought,  '  is  marching  in  the  heat  ! '  If 
{Drained, '  Poor  Alberto  will  catch  it  all !'  I  was  almost  ashamed 
to  go  to  bed  at  night,  when  I  thought  of  you  as  sleeping  on 
the  ground,  and  when  it  thundered,  I  waked,  lighted  the  lamp, 
and  said  :  '  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  sleep  in  such  weather  ! 
Who  knows  where  that  poor  boy  is  now  ? '  I  had  almost 
become  superstitious  from  constantly  tormenting  myself  about 
you.  When  I  went  to  look  for  any  thing,  I  said  to  myself : 
'  If  I  find  it  no  misfortune  will  happen  to  him,  if  I  do  not 
find  it '  .  .  .  like  all  women.  I  felt  my  heart-strings 
tightening  in  looking  at  your  clothes,  books,  and  every  thing 
belonging  to  you.  It  was  a  perfect  torment  to  hear  and  see 
the  gay  people  in  the  neighborhood  ;  to  see  the  young  fel- 
lows of  your  age  walking  quietly  and  contentedly  about  the 
city.  I  went  to  the  windows  and  looked  at  the  few  soldiers 
who  were  passing,  and  watched  them  until  they  had  disap- 
peared, for  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  a  little  of  you  about  them. 
I  read  and  re-read  all  your  letters  of  past  years,  recalled  your 
and  our  history  to  my  mind,  beginning  with  the  nights  when  I 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  347 

watched  over  you  as  a  child,  then  when  you  went  to  school, 
and  I  wept  if  you  returned  with  the  'I  think,'  and  I  did  it  for 
you,  striving  to  imitate  your  writing  ;  and  I  looked  (not  being 
able  to  do  any  thing  else),  and  bathed  with  my  tears  the  Latin 
Anthology,  when  you  did  not  succeed  in  translating,  and  grew 
discouraged  over  it.  Then  I  remembered  the  years  when  you 
were  at  college,  the  time  when  you  were  so  gay,  so  happy 
here,  that  evening  when  I  heard  that  music  which  nearly 
broke  my  heart,  and  I  curled  myself  in  a  corner  of  my  room, 
stopping  my  ears  with  my  hands.  The  fear  of  losing  you  from 
one  moment  to  the  other  made  my  having  a  son  named  Alberto 
almost  seem  like  a  dream  !  It  seemed  as  if  only  a  few  months 
had  elapsed  since  the  first  day  I  saw  you !  At  evening,  when 
your  sister  had  gone  to  sleep,  and  I  remained  alone  in  these 
rooms,  I  fell  upon  my  knees,  look,  beside  that  bed,  and  prayed 
to  God  as  I  had  never  prayed  before,  and  offered  Him  my  life 
a  hundred  times  over  for  the  preservation  of  yours,  uttering 
your  name  a  hundred  times  aloud,  as  if  you  were  present  to 
hear  me,  until  my  strength  failed  ;  I  felt  a  weight  on  my  chest, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  I  should  die.  .  .  .  But  you  are  here,  you  are 
safe,  you  are  mine  ;  I  can  look  at,  speak  to,  embrace  you,  and 
press  this  dear  head  to  my  breast.  Oh  !  it  seems  like  a  dream  ! 
it  seems  impossible !  Tell  me  that  you  are  really  here,  Al- 
berto ;  tell  me  that  you  are  listening  to  me,  and  see  me  weep- 
ing. .  .  ." 

I  fell  on  my  knees  before  her. 

"  My  son,  what  are  you  doing  ?     Rise  !  " 

"  But,  dear  mother,  what  are  you  saying  ?  Listen  to  me  :  if 
I  have  suffered,  was  it  not  for  you,  because  I  love  you.  Was 
I  tired  or  thirsty  ?  I  thought  how  that  poor  woman  would 


348  MILITARY  LIFE. 

suffer  did  she  imagine  it.  But  this  intense  affection  for  you 
gave  me  strength  and  courage.  'Am  I  suffering  ? '  I  said.  '  Oh, 
my  mother  has  suffered  much  more  forme  ;  and  with  what  cour- 
age she  concealed  her  pain  and  danger  when  ill  in  order  not  to 
frighten  me.'  And  thinking  of  you  and  your  love  for  me,  what 
esteem  you  have  for  my  heart  and  character,  the  idea,  the  sole 
idea  of  a  cowardly  feeling  on  the  battle-field  filled  me  with 
horror  because  it  seemed  an  outrage  to  you,  and  rather  than 
cause  you  shame  I  would  have  died.  I  too  went  over  your 
history  in  my  mind  during  those  long  evenings  passed  under 
the  tents  ;  and  as  children  fancy  paradise  after  their  fashion,  I 
dreamed  of  seeing  you  as  a  child  ;  and  then  as  a  girl  when 
in  your  garden  at  Savona  you  read  the  books  which  you  first 
placed  in  my  hands  ;  then  as  bride  and  mother  ;  when  I  was 
ill,  and  you  made  -paper  hats  to  amuse  me — do  you  remember  ? 
and  put  them  on  your  head  and  played  the  drum  with  two 
bits  of  the  chair  ;  brought  my  coffee  to  my  bed,  and  I  did  not 
wish  you  to  do  it,  but  you  said  :  '  Let  me  bring  it ;  this  is  my  com- 
fort.' Then  all  the  nursing  of  my  poor  infirm  father  through  those 
long  sleepless  nights  :  You  dear,  holy  woman  !  Then  when  I 
returned  from  college  the  first  time,  and  you  kissed  my  jacket. 
'  But  who  is  this  woman  ? '  I  asked  myself.  '  What  a  fool  I  am  ! 
Why  does  she  love  and  adore  me  so  much  that  I  am  her  life, 
her  world,  and  her  happiness  ?  Why  is  it  thus  ?  Do  I  deserve 
it  ?  Who  am  I  ?  There  are  many  other  mothers  who  are  not 
and  do  not  do  like  her  ;  why  should  God  have  given  me  such 
an  angel,  or  why  did  he  not  give  her  a  more  worthy  son  ? '  No, 
no,  let  me  finish  !  how  can  I  be  grateful  enough  to  you,  how 
can  I  reward  you  ?  If  I  should  place  at  your  feet  the  crown 
of  the  world,  could  I  give  you  back  the  thousandth  part  of  the 


DEPARTURE  AND  RETURN.  349 

good  that  you  have  done  me  with  your  beautiful  soul  and 
your  holy  heart  ?  Listen  :  I  have  always  said  it  and  I  repeat 
it,  and  I  shall  ever  say,  even  at  my  last  moment :  '  No  one  knows 
you  mothers  ;  but  if  all  knew  you,  if  the  world  were  interested 
in  the  great  mothers  as  it  is  in  the  great  citizens,  to  a  mother 
like  you,  to  an  angel  like  you  it  would  raise  a  monument.'  "  .  . 

My  mother  placed  her  hand  on  my  mouth. 

" '  A  golden  monument,  and  all  those  who  had  hearts 
and  souls,  and  I  first  of  all,  would  kiss  your  footprints.'  " 

"Alberto  !  Alberto  !  this  is  too  much  !  I  will  not  listen  !  " 

Then  both  of  us  with  tightly  clasped  hands,  and  breathing 
heavily,  I  on  my  knees,  she  leaning  over  me,  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  weeping,  smiling,  and  calling  each  other  by 
name. 

.  .  .  "  And  even  now  I  kiss  your  jacket !  "  she  exclaimed 
impulsively  as  she  embraced  me  and  placed  her  lips  on  my 
breast,  and  I  pressed  her  head  to  my  heart. 

A  few  moments  later  we  both  took  our  lights,  she  going  tow- 
ard her  room,  I  toward  mine. 

When  we  reached  the  door- way  we  both  turned,  laughed,  and 
came  back  into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Alberto  !    .    .    .    who  are  you  ? "  she  asked  lovingly. 

"  And  who  are  you  ? " 

"  You  are  a  mauvais  sujet  ? " 

"  And  you  are  a  saint !  " 

She  looked  at  me,  shook  her  head,  and  stood  motionless  in 
that  attitude  for  a  moment,  lighted  up  by  the  candle,  her  eyes 
glistening  with  tears,  with  a  smile  so  full  of  sweet  quiet  that  she 
really  seemed  a  saint. 

How  many  times,  now  that  I  am  living  far  from  her,  on  re- 


35°  MILITARY  LIFE. 

turning  home  at  night  quite  alone  and  ennuyJ,  with  the 
weight  of  some  remorse  upon  my  heart,  I  seem  to  see  her  in 
the  door-way,  just  in  that  attitude,  as  if  saying  to  me  :  "  You 
are  a  mauvais  sujet." 

It  is  a  sweet  but  solemn  reproof  which  resounds  in  the 
depths  of  my  soul,  and  makes  me  repent,  and  form  the  resolu- 
tion of  being  from  that  moment  forward  better,  more  honest 
and  more  worthy  of  her. 

And  on  going  to  sleep,  the  image  of  that  smiling,  luminous 
fa.ce  still  dances  before  my  eyes. 


DEAD    ON    THE    FIELD    OF    BATTLE. 


THE  artillery,  on  the  battle-field,  presents  a  spectacle  that 
gives  rise  at  the  same  time  to  a  feeling  of  surprise  and  terror. 
To  see  that  long  train  of  horses  and  wagons  moving,  at  a  sign, 
from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  with  a  tremendous  racket  dashing 
full  speed  across  fields,  roads,  and  vineyards,  climbing  and  de- 
scending, and  turning  with  the  greatest  rapidity,  crossing  ditches, 
banks,  overthrowing  and  crushing  hedges,  plants,  and  furrows 
in  their  impetuous  course,  and  finally  disappearing  in  a  whirl- 
wind of  dust  and  stones  among  the  distant  trees.  Then  after 
a  few  moments  to  see  it  reappear  on  the  top  of  a  hill,  break 
and  draw  up  in  line,  raise  an  immense  cloud,  and  fill  the  valley 
all  about  with  a  loud  booming  ;  to  see  these  formidable  mouths 
recede  at  every  discharge  as  if  frightened  by  their  own  shouts, 
and  far  away  in  the  distance  houses  destroyed,  trees  split,  and 
dense  crowds  of  the  enemy  broken  up  and  scattered  over  the 
country,  is  really  a  sight  that  causes  surprise  and  terror. 

From  the  knowledge  of  the  terrible  and  marvellous  strength 
of  weapons,  the  artillery  soldier  draws  his  peculiar  character  for 
pride  and  seriousness,  that  never  leaves  his  soul  or  face  even 
after  a  lost  battle,  when  all  the  others  are  prostrate  from  sad- 
ness and  despair. 

Thus,  serious  and  thoughtful,  but  not  disheartened  or 
dejected,  did  the  cannoniers  of  a  battery  of  the  Piedmontese 


352  Ml  LIT  A  R  Y  LIFE. 

army  enter  Chivasso  at  evening,  fifteen  days  after  the  battle  of 
Novara.  Many  wagons,  horses,  a  cannon,  two  officers,  and 
several  soldiers  were  missing  from  the  battery.  The  captain 
and  one  lieutenant  accompanied  it.  The  people  witnessed 
their  entrance  in  silence  and  sadness,  as  they  would  have  done 
the  passage  of  a  funeral  cortege. 

They  stopped  in  the  first  square.  The  captain  ordered  his 
officer  to  park  the  battery,  and,  dismounting  from  his  horse,  he 
looked  about  as  if  in  search  of  some  one  in  the  crowd. 

A  moment  later,  two  young  men  (one  might  have  been 
twenty-five,  the  other  eighteen)  approached  him,  took  off  their 
hats,  and  asked  timidly  :  "  Are  you  Captain ?  " 

The  captain  did  not  allow  them  to  finish,  shook  hands  with 
both,  calling  them  kindly  by  name,  and  said  :  "  I  took  the  lib- 
erty of  writing  direct  to  you,  without  having  the  honor  of 
knowing  you,  because  I  knew  of  no  one  else  in  this  city  to 
whom  I  could  turn  ;  I  should  have  written  earlier  if  I  had  been 
able  to  learn  any  thing  about  your  family.  .  .  .  But  not 
even  his  friends,"  he  added  in  a  sad  tone,  "  could  tell  me  any 
thing ;  and  he  had  many  dear  ones,  the  poor,  poor  fellow." 

Then  he  put  out  his  hand  again  to  the  two  young  men,  who 
pressed  it  affectionately. 

"  Did  you  say  any  thing  about  my  letter  to  your  father  ?  " 

They  replied  that  they  had  said  nothing,  save  that  the  cap- 
tain of  the  battery  to  which  their  poor  brother  had  belonged 
would  come  within  a  few  days  to  pay  him  a  visit ;  they  could 
not  tell  him  any  thing  more  because  he  was  ill,  and  they  were 
afraid  of  exciting  him  too  much  ;  yet  some  details  of  his  son's 
death  had  reached  him  two  days  after  the  battle,  and  he  had 
been  perfectly  inconsolable. 


DEAD    ON   THE   FIELD   OF  BATTLE.  353 

Meanwhile  the  lieutenant  came  up  to  them. 

"  Here  is  the  officer  of  whom  I  spoke  in  my  letter,"  said  the 
captain  in  an  undertone,  as  he  presented  the  lieutenant  to  the 
two  brothers,  who  pressed  his  hand,  and  made  many  pro- 
testations of  affection  and  gratitude,  to  which  he  replied  with 
much  effusion.  After  saying  a  few  words  more,  he  returned  to 
the  battery.  The  captain  arranged  with  ihe  brothers  that  he 
would  go  and  see  their  father  the  next  morning  at  seven  o'clock, 
because  at  eight  he  was  obliged  to  leave  for  Turin,  and  mak- 
ing them  tell  him  the  street  and  number  of  the  house,  he  re- 
called the  lieutenant  and  whispered  in  his  ear  :  "  To-morrow 
morning,  if  I  am  not  here  at  eight  o'clock,  you  can  leave  with 
the  battery  ;  but  do  not  pass  by  such  and  such  a  street  " — nam- 
ing it.  The  lieutenant  understood  the  reason,  and  replied  that 
his  orders  should  be  carried  out  ;  then  the  captain  moved  off 
with  the  two  brothers. 

The  following  morning  at  seven,  the  captain,  followed  by  an 
orderly  with  a  bundle  under  his  arm,  rapped  at  the  door  of 
the  two  new  friends.  He  was  obliged  to  wait  a  moment,  which 
seemed  like  an  hour.  V/as  it  impatient  desire,  or  timidity 
which  he  felt  at  that  instant  ?  Perhaps  even  he  would  not  have 
been  able  to  say  ;  but  he  felt  painfully  anxious.  The  door 
finally  opened  and  the  two  brothers  appeared.  They  did  not 
give  him  time  to  speak  ;  they  placed  their  fingers  on  their  lips, 
made  him  a  sign  to  keep  his  sword  from  rattling,  and  greeting 
him  silently  they  made  him  enter  the  house  and  sit  down.  The 
orderly  put  down  the  bundle  and  went  away. 

"  He  is  sleeping,"  said  the  older  brother  ;  "  but  he  is  much 
better." 

The  captain  took  a  chair,  and  the  two  brothers  sat  down 


354  MILITARY  LIFE, 

too,  drawing  their  seats  near  enough  to  be  able  to  talk  in  an 
undertone. 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  talk  to  him  without  any  danger  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  the  brothers  replied  together  ;  "  now 
there  is  no  longer  any  danger." 

"  Very  well,  then.  But  if  you  thought  to  the  contrary,  I 
should  beg  you  to  tell  me  quite  frankly  ;  I  should  not  wish,  in 
coming  here  to  bring  a  little  comfort,  to  be  the  cause  of  greater 
evil.  Listen  :  it  is  only  a  short  distance  from  here  to  Turin  ; 
I  could  run  off  for  a  few  hours  within  two  or  three  days." 

"  You  are  too  good  !  "  exclaimed  the  two  young  men,  press- 
ing his  hand.  "  We  thank  you  from  our  hearts,  but  really  it  is 
not  necessary  for  you  to  put  yourself  out  again  for  us.  Our 
father  is  really  better.  If  he  were  any  other  man,  perhaps, 
even  in  seeing  him  better,  we  should  hesitate  .  .  .  but  be- 
lieve us,  captain,  he  has  a  heart  so  capable  of  feeling  the  con- 
solation that  you  bring  him,  as  not  to  leave  any  doubt  about 
the  effect  which  your  words  will  produce  upon  him.  He  is  a 
loving  father,  but  a  good  citizen." 

"  I  believe  it,"  said  the  captain. 

At  that  moment  a  door  opened  and  a  handsome  blonde  boy, 
about  ten  years  old,  appeared.  On  seeing  the  captain,  he 
started  back. 

"  Come  here,"  said  one  of  the  brothers.  The  boy  came  for- 
ward. 

"  This  is  our  little  brother." 

"  How  much  he  resembles  that  poor  fellow  !  "  exclaimed  the 
officer. 

"  Quite  true  !  "  said  the  brothers. 

After  five  minutes  more  conversation  in  a  low  tone,  the  cap- 


DEAD   ON  THE  FIELD   OF  BATTLE,  355 

tain  opened  the  bundle  and  spoke  to  the  brothers  of  a  surprise 
for  their  father,  then  the  second  one  rose  and  passed  into  the 
other  room  to  wake  the  sick  man. 

The  oldest  brother  and  the  officer  pressed  each  other's  hands, 
and  said  :  "  Courage  !  "  to  one  another. 

The  young  fellow  approached  his  father's  bed  on  tiptoe,  i 
The  good  old  man  was  sleeping  lightly  with  one  arm  stretched 
outside  the  coverlid,  and  his  face  turned  toward  his  son.  The 
latter  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  that  frank,  venerable 
brow,  which  even  in  the  quiet  of  sleep  retained  the  imprint  of  a 
deep  sorrow,  and  he  thought :  "  Now  I  am  going  to  wake  you, 
poor  father, — to  wake  you  and  call  you  back  to  grief ;  I  am 
taking  from  you  these  few  moments  of  peace — but  it  is  neces- 
sary. Father  !  " 

The  old  man  opened  his  eyes  slowly  and  pressed  his  son's 
hand  with  the  one  he  had  outside  the  counterpane.  The  latter 
placed  his  right  hand  on  his  forehead,  bent  and  asked  him  how 
he  felt. 

"  Much  better,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well  then,  listen  father,  there  is  a  person  out  there  who 
would  like  to  see  you." 

"  Show  him  in." 

The  son  did  not  move. 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  Who  is  it  ?    .     .     .     It  's  an  officer." 

The  old  man  looked  at  his  son  without  speaking. 

"  It  is  a  captain." 

"  A  captain  ? "  and  he  opened  wide  his  eyes.  A  few  moments' 
silence  followed.  The  son,  taking  courage,  added  hastily  : 

"  It  is  a  captain  of  the  artillery." 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

The  father  made  a  sudden  effort  to  sit  upright,  but  the  son 
prevented  him. 

"  No,  father,"  he  then  said  with  much  sweetness  ;  "  do  not 
move  ;  it  might  make  you  ill ;  you  know  the  doctor  has  for- 
bidden you  to  get  up  ;  lie  down,  father,  and  keep  quiet." 

And  he  put  the  arm  that  was  out  under  the  coverlid.  The 
old  man's  eyes  gleamed  and  he  began  to  breathe  heavily. 
Shortly  after,  without  looking  his  son  in  the  face,  he  murmured 
in  a  trembling  voice  : 

"  And  this  captain     .     .     .     ? " 

"  He  was  his  captain." 

This  reply  had  been  expected. 

"  He  has  come  here  on  purpose  to  see  you." 

The  father  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  shook  his  head, 
pressed  his  lips  together,  and  covered  his  eyes  with  one  hand. 

"  Father,"  said  the  young  fellow  affectionately,  as  he  kissed 
him  on  the  forehead,  "  be  brave  ;  the  captain  has  corne  to 
bring  you  some  comfort,  and  he  will  give  it  you,  I  am  sure. 
Don't  do  so,  come  "  (and  he  tried  to  draw  his  hand  from  his 
eyes)  ;  "  be  brave,  father !  " 

"  Call  him." 

"  Immediately  ?  " 

"  Yes,  instantly." 

"Well,  then     .     .     .     shall  I  go?" 

"  Go  !  " 

"Yes,  I  '11  go  ;  but  be  brave,  father  ;  the  captain  will  bring 
you  comfort ;  you  will  see." 

So  he  left  the  room  quickly.  The  father  followed  him  with 
his  eyes  and  fixed  them  on  the  door.  He  heard  a  short  whis- 
per, the  noise  of  a  sword  ..."  Here  is  the  captain."  As 


DEAD  ON   THE  FIELD   OF  BATTLE. 

soon  as  he  appeared,  the  old  man  stretched  out  his  arms  toward 
him,  and  exclaimed  sorrowfully  :  "  Oh,  captain  !  captain  !  " 
The  latter  went  forward,  embraced  him,  and  said  affection- 
ately :  "  Courage,  dear  sir  ! " 

The  oldest  son  and  the  little  boy  placed  themselves  on  one 
side  of  the  bed,  and  the  second  one  on  the  other.  The  father 
had  laid  his  head  on  the  captain's  arm,  and  was  weeping.  For 
a  short  time  no  one  spoke. 

Suddenly  the  old  man  moved,  raised  his  head,  and  wiping 
his  eyes,  said  in  a  resolute  tone  :  "  Captain  .  .  .  you  were 
there  that  day  ;  you  have  seen  ;  .  .  .  tell  me  ...  re- 
late to  me  ...  I  want  to  know  every  thing ;  I  will  be 
strong  ...  I  am  strong  ...  I  will  listen  without 
giving  way  .  .  .  without  interrupting  you  ;  but  do  not  con- 
ceal any  thing  ...  I  want  to  know  all,  I  ...  I  must 
know  how  (and  here  he  broke  out  weeping  afresh)  .  .  . 
how  my  poor  son  died  !  " 

Then  he  laid  his  head  again  on  the  captain's  arm,  and  shak- 
ing it  disconsolately,  said : 

"  He  was  so  young  ! '' 

"  But  now  he  is  so  great  !  "  replied  the  captain. 

At  these  words  the  poor  old  man  started,  raised  his  head, 
and  looked  fixedly  at  the  officer  ;  and  as  he  looked,  his  face, 
bathed  in  tears,  gradually  grew  calm  and  proud,  his  eyes 
were  animated,  and  he  slowly  drew  his  arm  from  the  captain's 
shoulder,  as  if  the  new  thought  with  which  he  was  occupied 
were  sufficient  to  sustain  him  without  any  other  support.  This 
thought,  which  had  lain  veiled  and  dormant  in  his  sorrow,  sud- 
denly sprang  up  in  his  mind,  giving  him  an  unexpected  feeling 
of  comfort,  and  putting  into  his  soul  a  strength  of  which  he 


358  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

would  never  have  supposed  himself  capable.  "  So  great  !  " 
he  repeated  to  himself,  and  then  in  a  low,  but  firm  voice  he 
said  : 

"  Speak,  captain." 

The  captain  sat  down  as  near  the  bed  as  possible,  and,  play- 
ing with  the  fringe  of  the  counterpane,  tried  to  find  some  way 
to  begin.  He  did  not  succeed  immediately,  nor  would  he  have 
found  it  easy  to  do  so,  had  not  the  elder  brother  come  to  his 
assistance. 

"  Did  your  battery  have  much  to  do,  captain  ? " 

"  At  the  battle  of  Novara  ?  No,  not  much.  That  is,  as  far 
as  firing  goes,  very  little,  really  ;  but  it  had  to  work  as  much 
as  if  it  had  done  a  great  deal ;  for  it  was  running  for  three  or 
four  hours  without  a  moment's  rest ;  backward  and  forward  ; 
almost  always  on  the  same  road.  '  Captain  ! '  they  shouted  to 
me,  '  go  and  occupy  that  height ! '  And  away  I  went  on  a 
gallop.  But  hardly  was  I  up  there,  when  a  counter  order  ar- 
rived, and  down  we  went  to  our  first  place.  This  happened 
three  or  four  times  without  stopping.  Poor  horses,  how  hard 
they  worked  that  morning  !  They  really  deserved  a  better 
fate." 

"  Were  they  killed  ? " 

"  A  great  part  of  them." 

"  And  where  did  you  finally  stop  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  exactly  the  point  ;  that  is,  I  could 
not  call  it  by  name  ;  but  I  remember  the  aspect  of  the  place 
perfectly.  We  were  half  way  down  the  side  of  a  hill  ;  between 
that  point  and  the  top,  the  ground  caved  in  so  deeply  as  to 
hide  completely  a  couple  of  battalions  from  the  eyes  of  any 
coming  from  the  enemy's  direction.  When  I  reached  it, 


DEAD   ON   THE  FIELD  OF  BATTLE.  3  $9 

we  could  see,  off  in  the  distance  down  on  the  plain,  three 
long  Austrian  columns  which  were  slowly  advancing,  now 
turning  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left,  but  always  keeping  in  our 
direction  ;  they  were  so  far  away  that  we  could  scarcely  distin- 
guish their  white  uniforms  and  bayonets  gleaming  in  the  distance. 
One  of  my  officers  was  instantly  sent  with  two  cannon  to  the 
right  side  of  the  hill.  I,  with  my  lieutenant  and  four  can- 
non, remained  where  we  were.  At  the  cannon  on  the  right 
(here  the  captain  turned  to  the  oldest  brother)  .  .  .  was 
your  brother." 

The  old  man  made  no  movement ;  he  was  intent  and  impas- 
sible. The  captain  continued  : 

"  He  was  at  the  cannon  on  the  right.  They  instantly  began 
firing.  Hardly  was  the  cannon  loaded,  when  your  brother,  as 
sergeant,  had  to  'point  it.'  'At  the  middle  column!'  I 
shouted.  '  Yes,  sir  !  '  he  replied,  leaning  down  to  carry  out 
the  order.  '  Let  us  do  ourselves  honor  !  '  I  added.  He 
smiled,  took  aim,  stepped  back,  ordered  :  '  Fire  ! '  and  almost 
at  the  same  moment  I  saw  the  trunk  of  a  tree  which  was  in 
the  middle  of  the  centre  column  dash  into  the  air  ;  the  latter 
began  moving  confusedly,  spreading  out  and  getting  into  dis- 
order ;  the  wounded  officers  galloped  here  and  there  ;  then 
little  by  little  the  lines  formed  again,  and  continued  marching. 
'  Bravo  ! '  I  shouted  to  him.  '  Now,  another  ! '  He  took 
aim  again,  and  once  more  hit  the  mark." 

The  old  man  clapped  his  hand  on  the  bed. 

"  He  hit  the  mark  perfectly  ;  the  column  became  more  dis- 
ordered than  before  ;  the  officers  galloped  around  again  ;  the 
column  re-formed,  but  stopped.  At  that  moment  we  saw 
four  cannon  appear  in  the  distance,  reach  the  line  of  the  col- 


360  MILITARY  LIFE. 

umns  on  a  full  trot  ;  two  of  them  stop  between  the  centre  and 
left  one,  the  other  two  between  the  centre  and  right,  and  then 
begin  to  fire  against  us.  '  Courage  ! '  I  shouted,  turning  to  my 
soldiers  ;  '  this  is  an  excellent  opportunity  to  let  them  see  who 
we  are.'  We  began  to  fire  at  the  enemy's  cannon.  The  col- 
umns receded  a  good  deal.  The  one  in  the  centre  approached 
a  little  house,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  number  of  the  soldiers 
entered,  '  Sergeant ! '  I  shouted  to  your  son,  '  put  a  ball  into 
that  house  for  me.'  '  Yes,  sir  ! '  he  replied  in  his  usual  firm 
and  resolute  tone.  At  that  point  a  colonel  of  the  staff  passed 
behind  us  on  a  gallop,  heard  my  words,  stopped,  and  turning 
toward  the  cannon  on  the  right,  said  aloud  :  '  Let  us  see  ! ' 
'  Fire  ! '  shouted  the  brave  young  fellow  at  the  same  moment. 
And  from  the  roof  of  the  house  we  saw  rise  and  fall  into  the 
middle  of  the  column,  boards,  tiles,  and  beams,  and  a  crowd  of 
soldiers  dash  out  and  scatter  in  every  direction." 

The  father  picked  nervously  at  the  counterpane  with  both 
hands. 

"  '  Well  done  !  '  exclaimed  the  colonel,  and  off  he  went  on  a 
gallop.  But  the  Austrian  cannons  were  marvellously  fired. 
The  balls  fell  at  eight  or  ten  feet  around  us,  buried  themselves 
in  the  ground,  raising  clouds  of  dust  and  stones  which  gradu- 
ally enveloped  cannon  and  cannoniers,  hiding  them  entirely 
from  my  eyes.  When  the  cloud  disappeared,  we  could  always 
see  your  brave  son  smiling,  and  taking  the  dirt  out  from  be- 
tween his  collar  and  cravat,  as  quietly  and  impassibly  as  if  he 
were  in  no  danger.  But  we  were  unfortunate.  A  ball  fell 
into  the  middle  of  the  company  of  infantry  which  stood  as  an 
escort  at  our  backs,  and  killed  three  soldiers.  After  a  moment 
one  of  our  horses  was  killed,  and  two  badly  wounded.  This 


DEAD   ON   THE  FIELD   OF  BATTLE.  361 

was,  however,  a  lesser  evil.  Two  minutes  had  not  passed 
when  a  terrible  explosion  and  loud  cry  were  heard  ;  a  ball  had 
split  the  wheel  of  a  cannon,  and  stretched  two  cannoniers  in  a 
shapeless  mass  on  the  ground.  It  was  not  your  son's  cannon." 

The  old  man  breathed  as  if  some  hope  remained  that  his  son 
were  still  living. 

"  At  that  sight,  I  remember  your  son  struck  his  head  with  his 
hand,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  pain.  We  were  not  yet  reduced  to 
a  desperate  condition  ;  we  might  have  still  kept  our  post  for 
some  time  ;  two  new  cannon  joined  the  other  four  of  the  ene- 
my ;  the  Austrian  columns  began  to  advance  again,  and  we 
could  no  longer  remain  there.  Suddenly  we  heard  a  confused 
sound  of  steps,  voices,  and  arms  behind  us,  and  saw  two  battal- 
ions hastily  draw  up  in  line  on  the  crest  of  the  hill  to  repel  an 
assault.  Between  us  and  the  crest,  the  ground,  as  I  said,  was 
sunken  ;  for  this  reason  it  would  not  do  for  the  infantry  to  ad- 
vance to  our  line,  and  we  were  obliged  to  recede.  The  centre 
column  was  coming  rapidly  forward.  I  waited  for  it  to  arrive 
within  reach,  and  then  ordered  :  '  Fire  with  grape-shot  ! '  At 
the  word  '  fire  '  we  heard  something  like  a  clap  of  thunder, 
and  a  sharp  whistle  ;  a  cloud  of  dust  rose  and  hid  the  column, 
and  when  it  thinned,  we  saw  such  a  confusion  and  complete 
rout  in  the  enemy's  lines  !  But  it  was  late.  The  enemy,  scat- 
tered and  disordered  as  it  was,  continued  to  climb  boldly  ; 
there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  and  we  must  save  the  cannon. 
There  were  not  enough  horses.  '  Back  !  with  your  arms  ? '  I 
shouted.  Thirty  vigorous  arms  instantly  seized  the  wheels, 
orillons,  mouths,  and  began  to  push  the  cannon  back.  There 
was  one  artillery  man  lacking  at  the  cannon  on  the  right.  Your 
son  took  his  place,  and  seized  the  left  wheel.  '  Courage  ! '  I 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

shouted  ;  '  strength  !  strength  ! '  But  the  ground  that  he  had 
to  get  over  with  his  piece  was  broken  up  ;  the  wheels  sank,  and 
the  force  they  were  obliged  to  use  was  tremendous  ;  those  five 
brave  soldiers  made  the  effort  of  twenty ;  one  could  see  the 
muscles  of  their  hands  and  necks  rise  and  tremble  so  that  it 
seemed  as  if  they  would  burst  through  the  skin  ;  they  were 
flame-colored,  dripping  with  perspiration,  and  utterly  trans- 
figured. '  Courage,'  said  the  soldiers  and  officers  on  the  crest 
of  the  hill.  The  artillery  men,  panting  and  groaning,  redoubled 
their  strength.  We  already  felt  the  heavy  step  of  the  Austrian 
column  at  our  backs,  and  the  voices  of  the  officers  ;  a  chain  of 
the  pursuers  pressed  forward  by  the  enemy's  left  column  show- 
ered us  with  balls,  we  were  almost  on  the  crest.  ...  At 
that  moment  he  was  wounded  !  " 

"  Where  ?  where  was  he  wounded  ? "  asked  the  poor  old 
man  anxiously  as  if  he  were  hearing  the  news  for  the  first 
time. 

"  In  the  leg." 

"  At  what  point  ?  " 

"  Here,"  replied  the  captain  hurriedly,  pointing  to  the  calf 
of  the  right  leg.  "  Hardly  was  he  wounded,  when  he  turned 
to  look  at  the  leg  and  shouted  :  '  It  's  nothing  !  nothing  !  cour- 
age !  strength! '  and  he  went  on  pushing  the  cannon." 

"  Bravo  !  "  interrupted  the  firm  and  sonorous  voice  of  the 
sick  man. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  was  brave  indeed  !  and  in  fact  the  soldiers  who 
were  near  by  shouted  :  '  Bravo  ! '  The  five  courageous  men, 
making  a  final  effort,  pushed  the  cannon  on  to  the  crest,  and 
uttering  a  loud  shout  :  '  It  is  saved  ! '  they  fell  exhausted  to 
the  ground.  They  rose  immediately,  however  .  .  ." 


DEAD   ON   THE  FIELD   OF  BA  TTLE.  363 

"  But  they  did  not  all  rise  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands.  "  Oh,  I  knew  it !  " 

"  He  was  wounded  in  the  side." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"  Hardly  had  the  cannon  passed  the  crest,  when  the  two 
battalions  of  infantry  broke  out  into  a  heavy  fire  on  the  assault- 
ing column.  The  cannon  at  the  right  was  dragged  thirty  paces 
forward.  While  they  were  dragging  it  (at  this  point  the  captain 
rose  to  his  feet),  your  brave  son,  stretched  on  the  ground, 
pressing  one  hand  against  the  wound,  shouted  two  or  three 
times  :  '  Courage  !  courage  ! '  Then  his  voice  failed  him,  he 
made  another  sign  with  his  hand  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  that 's  enough,  captain  !  "  cried  the  old  man  in  a  tear- 
ful voice. 

"  Listen.  Hardly  had  our  cannon  stopped,  when  the  horses 
from  some  other  pieces  that  had  fallen  into  the  enemy's 
hands  came  up  ;  I  ordered  them  to  be  attached  immediately. 
The  lieutenant  got  out  of  his  saddle,  and  superintended  my 
orders,  standing  before  the  right  piece  with  his  back  turned 
toward  the  enemy  ;  the  horses  were  already  attached  ;  he 
was  on  the  point  of  turning  to  say  to  me  :  '  We  are  ready  ! ' 
when  suddenly  he  felt  some  one  press  his  knee  ;  he  turned  and 
saw.  .  .  ." 

The  old  man  sprang  up  in  his  bed,  seized  the  captain's  right 
hand,  and  asked  with  a  shout  :  "  Whom  ? " 

"  Your  son." 

"  My  son  ?  " 

"  Your  son,  who,  exhausted  and  dying,  had  dragged  himself 
there  to  take  a  last  farewell  of  his  cannon  and  comrades.  .  .  . 
All  the  cannoniers  gathered  arountl  him  ;  two  seized  him  under 


364  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  shoulders  and  raised  him  to  his  knees.  He  waved  both 
arms  and  opened  and  shut  his  mouth,  looking  at  the  lieutenant 
all  the  time,  as  if  he  wished  to  say  something.  '  What  do  you 
wish,  my  brave  soldier  ? '  the  lieutenant  asked,  in  a  tone  full  of 
affection  and  emotion  ;  '  what  do  you  want  ? '  Then  he  raised 
his  arms  and  clasped  his  hands,  as  if  embracing  some  one. 
The  lieutenant  had  a  capital  inspiration,  clapped  his  hand  on 
the  mouth  of  the  cannon,  and  asked  :  '  Is  it  this  ? '  '  Yes  !  yes  ! 
yes  ! '  he  seemed  to  try  to  say,  as  he  shook  his  head  and  gave 
a  sign  of  the  greatest  joy.  The  two  soldiers  lifted  him  up  to  the 
cannon  ;  he  encircled  it  with  his  arms,  pressed  it  to  his  breast, 
uttered  a  cry,  and  .  .  .  died." 

The  father,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  captain  with  ever-in- 
creasing emotion,  seizing  him  now  convulsively  by  the  hand,  now 
by  the  sword  or  the  ends  of  his  jacket,  feeling  of  his  shoulders 
and  arms,  as  a  blind  man  would  have  done  to  recognize  him, 
broke  out  at  that  last  word  into  a  violent  sob,  which  was  a  mixt- 
ure of  laugh  and  cry ;  his  eyes  gleamed,  and  his  whole  face 
was  lighted  up  with  an  expression  of  radient  joy. 

"  The  sight  of  that  hero's  death,"  continued  the  captain, 
"  filled  us  with  enthusiasm.  The  lieutenant  seized  your  son's 
head  with  both  his  hands,  and  looking  into  his  eyes  as  if  he  were 
still  alive,  shouted,  almost  beside  himself  :  '  Dear,  brave,  sub- 
lime soldier ! '  '  Hurrah  ! '  broke  out  all  the  soldiers  at  once, 
and  I  shouted  :  '  Salute  him  ! '  All  raised  the  hand  to  the 
cap,  and  repeated  together  :  '  Hurrah  ! ' ' 

The  old  man  burst  out  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  continued  the  captain,  growing  more  and  more 
excited,  "  shed  those  sweet  tears  ;  they  will  do  you  good  ;  he  is 
the  pride  of  our  battery  ;  he  will  never  be  forgotten  ;  in  twenty 


DEAD   ON  THE  FIELD  OF  BATTLE.  365 

years  our  soldiers,  in  pronouncing  his  name,  will  feel  their 
hearts  beat  as  we  do  now,  a  few  days  after  his  death  ;  they  will 
say  that  he  was  a  valiant  man,  and  will  love  and  bless  him  as 
they  would  an  absent  brother.  Yes,  yes,  weep  now  ;  now  you 
can  weep  ;  weep  here  ;  I  wish  you  to  bathe  my  uniform  with 
your  tears  !  " 

Saying  which  he  seized  and  pressed  the  white  head  of  the 
old  man  to  his  breast,  and  held  it  there  for  some  time.  The 
sons  were  weeping. 

The  invalid,  exhausted  after  such  long  and  deep  emotion, 
was  hardly  released  from  that  embrace  when  he  let  his  head 
drop  back  on  the  pillow,  and  said,  in  a  weak  and  broken  voice  : 
"  Thanks,  captain  ;  thank  you  from  my  heart  !  Your  words 
have  done  me  a  great  good.  It  seems  as  if  an  immense  weight 
were  lifted  from  my  heart.  I  hardly  suffer  any  more.  You 
have  given  me  great  comfort,  my  good  captain,  and  I  thank 
you  for  it."  4 

He  half-closed  his  eyes,  and  remained  thus  for  some  time,  so 
that  he  seemed  to  be  sleeping.  Meanwhile  all  three  brothers 
had  gone,  one  after  the  other,  into  the  neighboring  room,  and 
had  returned,  each  holding  one  arm  behind  his  back.  The 
captain,  too,  had  assumed  that  attitude.  The  sick  man  noticed 
nothing. 

"  Captain  !  "  he  finally  said,  rousing  himself. 

"Sir?" 

"  He  was  your  sergeant  ? " 

"Yes." 

"Then — perhaps — you  have  some  writing,  a  letter — or 
some  .  .  ."  and  he  could  go  no  farther. 

"  Did  you  mean  some  report  ?  " 


366  MILITARY  LIFE. 

"  Just  that,  have  you  any,  captain  ? " 

"Yes,  I  have  many  of  them  ;  and  as  soon  as  I  reach  Turin 
I  will  send  them  to  you.  Oh,  I  had  thought  of  this  !  If  you 
had  not  spoken  of  it  to  me,  I  should  have  mentioned  it  to 
you." 

"  Oh,  captain  ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  "  how  good  you  are  ! 
How  much  I  owe  you  !  I  shall  always  preserve  most  relig- 
iously all  that  my  poor  son  wrote  ;  I  shall  read  it  ten  times  a 
day,  and  always  keep  it  under  my  eyes.  .  .  .  Oh,  you  will 
send  me  a  great  comfort,  captain,  in  sending  me  those  pa- 
pers." 

"  But  that  will  not  be  the  only  comfort  I  can  give  you." 

"  What  other  ? "  asked  the  good  father  quickly,  and  he  sat 
up  again  in  bed. 

"  This,  for  instance,"  replied  the  captain,  and  he  handed  him 
the  cap  of  an  artillery  sergeant,  which  he  had  kept  hidden  be- 
hind his  back. 

The  old  man  uttered  a  short  cry,  seized  the  cap  with  both 
hands,  and  kissed  it  passionately  three  or  four  times. 

"  Father,"  then  said  the  oldest  son,  "  I  too  have  some  com- 
fort to  give  you  .  .  .  here  it  is,"  and  he  handed  him  a  pair 
of  sergeant's  epaulettes. 

The  father  seized  and  kissed  the  epaulettes,  too. 

"  I  have  one  also,"  said  the  second  brother  immediately,  as 
he  handed  his  father  the  yellow  full-dress  cords. 

He  took  them  and  kissed  them  fondly. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  boy  finally. 

"Oh,  my  child  !  "  exclaimed  the  father  affectionately  stretch- 
ing out  his  arm  to  him. 

"  I  too  have  to  give  you  something  in — "  he  stopped  to  think 


DEAD   ON   THE  FIELD   OF  BATTLE.  367 

for  a  moment  ...  "in  anticipation,  as  the  captain  said. 
Here  it  is." 

And  he  handed  his  father  a  medal  for  military  valor  with 
its  ribbon  attached. 

The  father  had  scarcely  caught  sight  of  it,  before  he  had  seized 
and  pressed  to  his  breast  in  one  fond  embrace  the  boy's  head,  the 
cords,  the  epaulettes,  and  the  cap,  saying  as  he  did  so  :  "  Oh, 
here  is  my  son  !  my  poor  son  !  I  feel  him  !  " 

Finally  he  released  the  boy  and  fell  back  exhausted  upon  his  pil- 
low, still  holding  tightly  to  his  breast,  with  his  clasped  arms,  those 
precious  objects.  From  time  to  time  he  repeated,  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  just  above  his  breath  :  "  Oh,  here  is  my  son  ! 
I  feel  him  !  I  feel  him  ! "  And  he  clasped  his  arms  more 
tightly  still. 

All  were  silent  for  a  short  time,  until  the  captain  said  in  an 
undertone  to  the  brothers  that  he  must  leave.  It  was  eight 
o'clock  ;  and  they  could  not  beg  him  to  stay. 

"  Father !  "  said  one  of  the  young  men  aloud.  The  old  man 
opened  his  eyes. 

"  The  captain  must  go." 

"  Go  ?  go  already  ?  Oh  !  why  ?  Can  you  not  remain  with  us 
a  little  longer,  captain  ? " 

"I  cannot  indeed,  dear  sir,  and  I  regret  it  much,  but  I 
really  must  leave  immediately." 

The  old  man  gave  vent-to  an  expression  of  sorrow. 

"  Dear  sir  ! — press  my  hand  (the  old  man  squeezed  it  vigor- 
ously). I  shall  return  ;  I  shall  come  sometimes  to  see  you, 
and  I  will  write  you  too  ;  do  not  doubt  that.  It  is  impossible 
that  I  should  ever  forget  you  or  this  beautiful  day.  I  was  fond 
of  you  before  knowing  you,  because  one  cannot  help  loving  the 


368  MILITARY  LIFE. 

father  of  a  brave  soldier,  even  without  having  seen  him.  But 
now !  Now  that  I  have  known  your  generous  heart  and  your 
noble  soul,  now  I  admire  and  love  you  a  thousand  times 
more  than  ever.  Good-by  ;  be  brave,  remember  me  some- 
times, and  think  that  I  have  shared  your  sorrow,  so  that  1 
shall  always  be  proud  of  your  pride,  and  with  the  same  joy 
with  which  you  say  :  '  That  hero  was  my  son  ! '  I  shall  always 
say  :  '  That  hero  was  my  soldier  ! '  Farewell,  dear  sir !  " 

"Good-by  .  .  .  Oh,  I  cannot  say  good-by  yet,  dear 
captain !  No  .  .  .  it  is  too  soon  ...  I  cannot  .  ." 

The  captain  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  the  old  man 
made  him  a  sign  with  his  hand  as  if  to  impose  silence,  drop- 
ped his  head  and  was  motionless,  as  if  straining  his  ear  to 
catch  some  distant  sound. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  one  of  the  brothers. 

"  Silence  !  "  repeated  the  father.  All  kept  quiet.  The  captain 
listened  too,  made  a  movement  of  surprise  and  regret,  and  said 
to  himself  :  "  The  lieutenant  has  forgotten  or  not  understood 
my  order."  In  fact,  they  heard  a  distant  sound,  dull  and  indis- 
tinct, which  was  gradually  increasing. 

"Father,  what  do  you  hear  ?"  asked  the  son  again. 

The  father,  without  moving  his  head  or  eyes,  stretched  out 
his  hand  to  the  captain,  seized  him  by  the  arm,  drew  him  tow- 
ard him,  and  asked  in  an  undertone  :  "  Do  you  hear,  cap- 
tain ? " 

"  I  ?— no,  nothing  !  " 

At  that  point  they  heard  a  distant  sound  that  seemed  like  a 
military  command  ;  the  noise  grew  more  audible. 

"  Captain  !  "  shouted  the  old  man  impetuously,  rising  to  a 
sitting  posture,  "  those  are  cannon  !  " 


DEAD   ON   THE  FIELD   OF  BATTLE.  369 

The  captain  trembled. 

"  It  is  your  battery." 

"  Nonsense  !  It  cannot  be  ;  you  are  mistaken  ;  that  is  not 
my  battery,  I  assure  you." 

"  It  is  your  battery,  I  tell  you  !  I  hear  it  !  I  see  it  !  Tell 
me  the  truth,  captain."  His  voice  and  his  face  had  something 
imperious  in  them. 

"  But  no  !  "  repeated  the  captain,  raising  his  voice  to  drown 
the  noise,  and  they  all  did  the  same.  "  It  is  not  possible,  I  tell 
you  ;  I  came  here  alone ;  my  battery  has  been  two  days  at 
Turin  ;  what  you  hear  is  a  train  of  military  supplies  ;  do  be- 
lieve me  ;  what  reason  could  I  have  for  deceiving  you  ?" 

"  Do  be  quiet  all  of  you  !  "  shouted  the  old  man  imperiously 
as  he  released  himself  from  his  sons,  who  were  holding  him. 
"  Will  you  all  be  quiet  !  " 

It  was  impossible  to  disobey ;  all  were  silent,  and  they  could 
distinctly  hear  the  noise  of  the  wagons,  the  tread  of  the  horses, 
and  the  different  voices  of  the  commanders. 

"  Ah  !  I  told  you  so  !  "  shouted  the  old  man  in  a  tone  of 
triumph,  almost  beside  himself  with  joy  ;  "  I  told  you  so  !  I 
felt  in  my  heart  that  they  were  cannon  !  I  saw  them.  .  .  . 
Here,  quick,  give  me  my  clothes,  I  wish  to  get  up,  I  wish  to 
go  down.  .  .  ." 

"  But  no,  father,  no  !  no  !  "  broke  out  the  sons  together  ; 
"  you  cannot  get  up,  you  are  ill,  it  might  do  you  harm,"  and 
they  tried  to  keep  him  in  bed.  But  he,  opening  his  arms 
vigorously  and  pushing  them  all  away  from  him,  shouted  : 
"  Leave  me,  in  heaven's  name  !  Do  you  wish  to  kill  me  ! 
Here,  give  me  my  clothes  immediately,  I  wish  them  !  "  and  he 
started  to  throw  himself  from  the  bed.  They  prevented  him 


3/0  MILITARY  LIFE. 

from  doing  this,  but  it  was  not  possible  to  hold  him  in  check  ; 
they  were  obliged  to  obey ;  so  they  handed  him  his  clothes 
and  helped  him  to  dress  in  haste,  not  desisting,  however,  from 
begging  him  to  stay  where  he  was.  "No — no — no!  ".he  kept 
repeating  with  a  stifled  and  gasping  voice  ;  "  I  will  get  up.  I 
wish  to  see." 

Dressed  as  well  as  possible  under  the  circumstances,  and 
supported  by  his  sons,  he  started  with  unequal  steps  out  of  the 
room.  But  meanwhile  the  captain  had  gone  to  the  window, 
and  calling  to  the  lieutenant,  who  was  passing  at  that  moment, 
ordered  him  to  put  the  battery  on  a  trot.  The  order  was  in- 
stantly executed.  The  old  man  reached  the  street,  saw  the 
battery  moving  rapidly  off,  uttered  a  cry  of  despair,  and  tried  to 
throw  himself  at  the  captain's  feet. 

The  captain  could  not  resist.  "  Corporal  !  "  he  shouted  to 
the  first  corporal  who  passed  ;  "  tell  the  lieutenant  to  stop  the 
column  immediately !  " 

The  column  stopped.  The  old  man,  still  supported  by  his 
sons,  preceded  by  the  captain,  moved  totteringly  toward  the 
battery,  which  was  quite  far  away. 

When  the  reached  the  last  cannon,  the  old  man  turned  to 
the  captain,  and  not  being  able  to  articulate  one  word,  made  a 
sign  to  him. 

"  No,  not  this  one,"  the  captain  replied  ;  "  forward." 

At  that  moment  the  lieutenant  came  up.  They  reached  the 
second  cannon. 

"  Nor  this  one  either  ;  go  on  still." 

They  reached  the  third.  The  captain  had  no  need  to  speak. 
The  old  man  dashed  forward,  with  inexpressible  affection,  on 
lo  the  cannon,  and  threw  his  arms  around  the  middle  of  it. 


DEAD   ON  THE  FIELD   OF  BATTLE.  3/1 

The  dying  son  had  kissed  it  on  the  mouth.  "  Here  !  here  !  " 
shouted  the  captain,  striking  the  mouth  with  his  hand.  The 
father  stretched  his  arms  toward  the  mouth,  pressed  it  to  his 
breast,  and  let  his  face  fall  affectionately  on  it,  sobbing  as  he 
did  so.  "  Oh,  my  son  !  oh,  my  son  !  " 

Meanwhile,  at  a  sign  from  the  captain,  the  lieutenant  had. 
dismounted,  and  the  two  cannoniers  who  had  held  the  dying 
sergeant  had  got  down  from  their  seat,  and  all  three  placed 
themselves  behind  the  old  man,  the  officer  in  the  middle  and 
the  two  soldiers  at  his  side. 

"  Sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  lieutenant. 

The  father,  without  taking  his  arms  from  the  cannon,  turned, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  three  ;  the  scene  which  the  captain  had 
narrated  flashed  through  his  mind  ;  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  threw 
his  arms  around  the  two  cannoniers'  necks  and  laid  his  head 
on  the  lieutenant's  breast.  The  latter,  deeply  moved,  pressed 
the  old  man's  head  between  his  hands,  and  gave  him  on  his  fore- 
head the  kiss  which  he  had  given  to  his  son  on  the  battle-field. 

"All  my  sons  !  "  cried  the  poor  father. 

The  captain  made  a  sign  ;  all  the  soldiers  rose  to  their  feet 
and  gave  him  a  military  salute. 

The  good  old  man  felt  his  knees  giving  away  under  him,  and 
fell  into  the  arms  of  his  sons. 

A  few  moments  after,  the  last  cannon  of  the  battery  was  dis- 
appearing at  the  end  of  the  street,  and  the  father,  leaning  on 
his  sons'  arms  and  standing  at  the  house  door,  saluted  it  with 
his  hand  as  if  his  dead  son  were  really  leaving  with  it. 

"  Oh,  father  !  "  said  one  of  the  young  men,  "  our  brother  is 
not  dead  ! " 

And  he,  raising  his  head  proudly,  replied  :  "  And  will  never 
die!" 


THE  ITALIAN  ARMY  DURING  THE  CHOLERA  OF 

1867. 


EVERY  time  I  think  how  much  the  army  did  and  suffered 
for  the  country  during  the  cholera  of  1867,  and  feel  again  that 
lively  sense  of  admiration  and  gratitude  which  was  aroused  in 
me  during  those  days  by  the  news  of  every  fresh  act  of  charity 
and  courage,  I  am  seized  by  the  doubt  that  the  greater  part  of 
those  actions  has  been  forgotten  by  the  majority,  that  many  of 
them  have  never  been  known,  that  all,  or  nearly  all,  have  been 
too  vaguely  mentioned  to  be  as  thoroughly  appreciated  and 
praised  as  they  deserve.  Perhaps  the  recollection  of  all  those 
grand  actions  has  been  fused  by  the  nation  into  one  single 
idea — the  army  did  much  good  ;  just  as  after  a  victorious  battle 
the  movements  and  glory  of  one  hundred  thousand  soldiers  is 
expressed  and  exalted  in  the  name  of  some  general.  And  I 
am  strengthened  in  this  belief  when  I  consider  that  the 
country,  which  is  only  a  spectator,  and  can,  and  generally 
does,  notice  many  things,  having  been,  in  the  case  of  the 
cholera,  both  actor  and  victim  at  the  same  time  in  the  terrible 
drama,  quite  naturally  paid  little  attention  to  the  many  passing 
deeds  (although  the  army  was  generous),  the  effects  of  which 
were  trivial  and  almost  unnoticeable  in  comparison  to  the 
vastness  of  the  evils  by  which  it  was  so  greatly  tried.  Now 
there  is  no  one  who  does  not  understand  how  the  feeling  of 

372 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  373 

admiration  and  gratitude  which  arises  from  the  vague  mention 
of  the  work  done  by  the  army  for  the  benefit  of  the  country 
on  that  occasion,  must  be  much  less  deep  and  lasting,  and  the 
example  less  efficacious,  than  it  would  be  when  knowing  the 
manner  in  which  the  work  was  individually  accomplished,  the 
sacrifices  which  it  cost  and  the  perils  that  accompanied  it, 
the  relation  of  which  would  produce  a  deep  impression  upon 
the  mind,  and  people  thus  be  able  to  bestow  their  admiration 
upon  deeds  of  daring,  and  unite  their  gratitude  with  names. 
Some  of  these  facts  and  these  names  I  mean  to  revive  in  the 
memory  of  any  who  have  forgotten  or  never  heard  them  ;  and 
I  am  induced  to  this  not  so  much  by  the  thought  of  the  sweet 
and  proud  sense  of  satisfaction  that  I,  as  citizen  and  sol- 
dier, shall  experience  in  writing  a  page  so  glorious  for  the 
Italian  army,  as  by  the  desire  which  I  have  to  fulfil  a  duty  of 
justice  by  giving  light  to  many  virtues,  many  forgotten  or  ob- 
scure sacrifices,  and,  besides  this,  by  the  firm  conviction  that  it 
will  not  be  quite  a  useless  task  to  set  forth  a  splendid  example 
of  the  way  in  which  the  man  and  citizen  should  behave  in  the 
face  of  national  misfortunes. 

Toward  the  end  of  1866,  it  was  hoped  in  Italy  that  the 
cholera,  which  had  invaded  many  provinces  that  year,  would 
not  return  the  following  season.  But  on  the  contrary,  as 
every  one  knows,  it  returned  with  greater  force  than  before, 
and  of  all  the  Italian  provinces,  that  which  suffered  the  most 
was  Sicily,  of  which  I  shall  write  almost  exclusively,  in  order 
to  carry  out  my  design  in  the  clearest  and  most  concise  man- 
ner. 

In  the  months  of  January  and  February  of  '67  the  cholera 
carried  off  a  few  victims  in  the  neighborhood  of  Girgenti  and 


374  MILITARY  LIFE. 

especially  in  Porto  Empedocle,  whence,  in  the  month  of 
March,  it  spread  through  the  entire  province,  and  from  this,  in 
April,  into  that  of  Caltanisetta,  and  increased  most  terribly  in 
both  during  the  month  of  May,  favored  by  the  summer  heat, 
that  made  itself  felt  a  month  earlier  than  usual  in  consequence 
of  the  long  drought.  It  did  not  decrease  at  all  during  the 
month  of  June,  save  in  the  city  of  Caltanisetta,  where  it  dimin- 
ished perceptibly.  In  fact,  during  the  first  part  of  that  month, 
it  invaded  the  provinces  of  Trapani,  Catania,  and  Syracuse, 
and  at  the  beginning  of  July,  Palermo,  and  at  the  beginning  of 
August,  Messina.  Meanwhile  it  had  spread  through  almost  all 
the  other  provinces  of  Italy,  and  particularly  in  the  southern 
ones  ;  more  than  all  others,  in  Reggio,  where  it  committed 
its  last  and  most  frightful  ravages  at  the  end  of  the  year. 

From  the  first  indications  that  manifested  themselves  in  the 
provinces  of  Girgenti  and  Caltanisetta,  General  Medici,  com- 
manding the  division  of  Palermo,  almost  foreseeing  the  terrible 
course  of  the  epidemic,  put  in  force  all  the  hygienic  precautions 
prescribed  by  the  Minister  of  War  in  1865.  He  divided  the 
corps  into  a  greater  number  of  detachments,  so  that  no  city  or 
village  should  be  without  them.  He  ordered  that  military  hos- 
pitals for  cholera  patients,  infirmaries  for  those  suspected  of 
the  disease,  and  houses  for  the  convalescent,  should  be  opened 
everywhere  in  the  most  remote  and  healthful  localities.  He  in- 
stituted a  commission  for  sanitary  surveillance  in  every  district, 
prescribed  most  thorough  and  rigorous  cleanliness,  together 
with  frequent  disinfections  of  the  barracks ;  he  suspended  every 
movement  of  the  troops  from  the  infected  localities  to  those 
that  were  healthful :  obliged  every  corps  and  detachment  to 
give  its  assistance  in  case  of  any  call  from  the  civil  authorities 


THE  CHOLERA    OF  1867.  375 

for  the  service  of  sanitary  cordons,  or  to  re-inforce  the  national 
guard  in  the  maintenance  of  public  security  ;  enjoined  upon 
them  to  look  for  and  prepare  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  prin- 
cipal cities  the  best  adapted  place  for  the  encampment  of  the 
troops  in  case  of  necessity ;  he  improved  the  soldiers'  rations 
by  the  daily  distribution  of  wine  and  coffee  ;  exhorted  the 
officers  to  prepare  the  minds  of  the  soldiers  for  that  life  of 
sacrifice,  danger,  and  hardships  which  every  one  foresaw  in  his 
heart,  and  expected  with  his  soul  resigned  and  fortified  by  the 
experience  of  the  preceding  year.  An  equal  number  of  pre- 
cautions were  taken  at  the  same  time  by  the  majority  of  the 
divisional  commandants  in  the  other  provinces  of  Italy,  and 
everywhere  they  put  up  hospitals,  disinfected  barracks,  and 
there  was  an  unceasing  bustle  of  physicians  and  officers,  a 
continual  giving  and  receiving  of  orders,  an  unusual  confusion 
of  people  and  things,  just  as  at  the  opening  of  a  war  ;  in  a  word, 
that  great  agitation  of  minds  which  precedes  great  events,  and 
which  is  so  well  expressed  by  each  one  in  the  words  :  We  are 
ready ! 

But  no  matter  how  well  disposed  the  army  and  brave,  honest 
citizens  were  to  work  for  the  good  of  the  country,  three  great 
inimical  forces  were  bound  to  render  the  majority  of  their 
labors  quite  inefficient  for  a  long  time  :  superstition,  fear,  and 
poverty,  the  assiduous  companions  of  contagion  in  all  people 
and  in  all  ages. 

In  most  of  the  places,  and  particularly  in  the  smaller  towns, 
the  syndics  and  many  other  public  officers  abandoned  their 
posts  at  the  first  appearance  of  the  cholera,  and  some  places 
were  deserted  entirely  by  families  with  all  their  worldly  pos- 
sessions. The  rich  and  well-to-do  people,  and  all  those,  in 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

fact,  who  might  have  succored  the  people  most  efficaciously, 
fled  from  the  city  and  took  refuge  in  their  villas.  In  a  few 
days  all  the  country-houses  were  crowded  with  the  fugitive 
citizens,  and  not  only  those  of  the  rich,  but  of  any  one  possess- 
ing enough  to  live  several  days  without  work,  and  hire  a 
dwelling,  hut,  or  any  hole,  even  at  a  great  sacrifice,  provided 
that  it  was  distant  from  the  city,  and  as  far  as  possible  from 
any  other  habitation. 

Abandoned  and  frightened  by  others'  fear  and  the  solitude  in 
which  they  were  left,  the  poor  people  fled  too,  and  wandered  in 
troops  through  the  country,  dragging  their  lives  miserably  out 
amid  the  sufferings  of  hunger.  The  general  terror  was  in- 
creased by  the  recollection  of  the  great  sufferings  of  past  years  ; 
worse  misfortunes  were  predicted  as  is  always  the  case  ;  they 
foresaw  such  an  end  from  the  beginning :  in  each  province  they 
exaggerated  most  marvellously  the  ravages  of  the  disease  in  the 
others ;  in  the  country  they  narrated  horrible  things  of  the  mor- 
tality in  the  cities  ;  in  the  cities  just  as  much  again  of  that  in 
the  country-places. 

It  is  quite  easy  to  imagine  how  the  population  of  the  dis- 
tricts became  reduced.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  cities, 
the  communal  administrations  having  been  abandoned,  or 
left  in  a  state  of  disorder,  they  neglected  the  most  necessary 
hygienic  precautions.  Then  the  population,  declaring  firmly 
that  such  precautions  were  unnecessary,  refused  to  render 
their  assistance,  without  which  they  were  quite  useless,  no 
matter  how  much  good-will  the  authorities,  or  how  much  zeal 
the  few  citizens  who  thought  and  worked  with  a  fixed  purpose, 
displayed.  Then  let  me  add  that  there  were  many  places  with- 
out any  physicians  or  chemists,  and  then,  even  the  largest  were 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  377 

desolated  by  the  poverty  which  the  famine  of  the  previous 
year  had  produced,  and  increased  by  the  scanty  harvest  of 
that  season  and  the  enormous  mortality  in  the  herds.  Most 
of  the  merchants  had  failed  ;  the  construction  of  railways  had 
been  interrupted  ;  many  provincial  and  communal  works  had 
been  left  half  completed  ;  the  men  were  without  work  ;  the 
shops  for  luxuries  had  been  closed  first — of  late  many  of  those 
for  the  necessities  of  life  ;  also,  the  work-shops  abandoned  ; 
hundreds  of  familes  reduced  to  living  on  herbs  and  India  figs  ; 
on  every  side  famine,  discouragement,  and  squalor. 

To  culminate  the  general  misfortune  there  spread  and  took 
root  in  the  minds  of  the  people  the  old  superstition  that  the 
cholera  was  the  effect  of  poisons  scattered  about  by  the  order 
of  the  government,  which  the  common  people  in  most  of  the 
the  southern  districts  (in  consequence  of  the  oppression  of  a 
past  government)  regard  as  an  enemy  who  is  secretly  and  con- 
tinually trying  to  harm  them  for  its  own  preservation.  In 
Sicily  this  superstition  had  been  accepted  from  the  conviction 
that  the  government  wished  to  inflict  punishment  for  the  rebell- 
ion of  September,  and  for  this  reason  a  great  part  of  the  sani- 
tary precautions  taken  by  the  government  met  with  a  stubborn 
resistance  in  the  common  people  ;  every  action  appeared  an 
outrage  ;  in  every  order  they  suspected  some  rascally  design  ; 
from  the  slightest  indication  they  drew  some  argument  con- 
firmatory of  the  poisoning,  and  they  saw  some  attempt  in  every 
trifle.  The  hospitals,  disinfections,  visits  of  public  officers, 
were  all  the  objects  of  diffidence,  fear,  and  abhorrence.  The 
populace  could  not  be  induced  to  allow  themselves  to  be  taken 
to  the  hospitals,  except  at  the  last  moment,  when  every  case 
was  useless.  The  majority  of  them  died  ;  and  just  for  this 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

reason  they  believed  all  the  more  firmly  that  the  medicines 
were  poisons,  and  the  physicians  assassins.  They  preferred  to 
die  quite  abandoned,  without  any  assistance  or  comforts.  They 
did  not  believe  in  contagion,  and  so  they  lived  together  in  any 
way,  the  sick  and  the  well ;  many  families  in  dark,  horrible 
dwellings,  which  were  the  terrible  hearthstones  of  the  pesti- 
lence. They  concealed  the  bodies  to  prevent  themselves  from 
being  isolated,  or  because  they  disliked  the  idea  of  seeing  them 
buried  in  cemeteries,  instead  of  in  the  churches,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom in  many  places  ;  or,  from  the  obstinate  conviction  that 
those  attacked  by  cholera  often  appear  to  be  dead  when  they 
are  not,  and  come  back  to  life  after  a  time.  They  resorted  to 
every  device  to  elude  the  researches  of  the  authorities.  They 
often  resisted  with  force  the  public  agents  who  came  to  drag 
the  decayed  bodies  from  the  houses.  They  threw  these  bodies 
into  wells,  or  buried  them  secretly  inside  the  houses.  In  some 
places,  either  from  carelessness  on  the  part  of  the  authorities, 
or  from  neglect  on  the  part  of  the  people  who  wished  to  assist 
at  these  pious  offices,  the  bodies,  although  not  refused  by  the 
relatives,  were  left  several  days  in  the  houses,  were  thrown  and 
left  uncovered  in  the  cemeteries,  or  covered  with  a  few  shovel- 
fuls of  earth,  so  that  the  air  all  about  was  poisoned,  and  no  one 
could  be  found  who  was  willing  to  approach  the  place,  thus 
making  it  necessary  to  select  other  spots  for  interment.  The 
common  superstitions  were  secretly  fermented  by  the  Bourbons 
and  clergy.  All  the  agents  of  the  public  force,  the  carabi- 
neers, soldiers,  inspectors  of  the  custom-house,  and  govern- 
ment officials  were  suspected  as  poisoners.  They  scattered, 
and  posted  up  in  the  streets  seditious  proclamations  exciting 
the  people  to  revenge  and  bloodshed.  Little  by  little  the 


"  Little  by  little  the  people,  armed  with  scythes,  picks,  guns,  assembled,"  etc. 

(Page  378.) 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  379 

people,  armed  with  scythes,  picks,  guns,  assembled,  ran  tumult- 
uously  about  the  country  roads  trying  to  put  the  poisoners  to 
death.  They  menaced  or  assaulted  the  barracks  of  the  carabi- 
neers and  soldiers  ;  broke  into  the  physicians'  houses  and 
sacked  them  ;  burst  into  the  pharmacies,  and  destroyed  and 
displaced  every  thing ;  invaded  the  offices  of  the  Commune, 
tore  the  national  banner ;  burned  the  papers  and  registers  ; 
forced  the  national  guards  to  hunt  the  country  with  them  in 
search  of  poisoners  ;  looked  for  them  in  the  houses  ;  thought 
they  had  found  them ;  obliged  them  with  daggers  at  their 
throats  to  imagine  and  confess  their  accomplices  ;  murdered 
them,  lacerated  their  bodies,  and  burned  them  in  the  streets 
and  squares.  Entire  families,  accused  of  poisoning,  were 
suddenly  beseiged  at  night  by  a  crowd  of  common  people  ; 
and  old  men,  women,  and  children  fell  with  their  throats  cut 
at  each  other's  feet,  without  having  time  to  exculpate  them- 
selves or  plead  for  mercy.  They  burned  houses  and  scattered 
the  ruins.  At  Via  Grande,  Belpasso,  Gangi,  Menfi,  Monreale, 
Rossano,  Morano,  Frassineto,  Porcile,  in  the  Potentino,  and 
Avellinese,  in  a  hundred  other  places  there  were  continuous 
gatherings,  and  rebellions,  and  horrible  deeds  of  bloodshed. 

Every  day  the  populace  found  a  stone,  a  rag,  or  some  object 
which  they  fancied  was  saturated  with  poison.  They  gathered 
in  crowds  at  the  syndics,  carrying  the  poisoned  object  with 
them  ;  they  had  physicians  and  chemists  come  to  experiment 
with  it,  and  desired  that  the  results  of  the  experiment  should 
be  as  they  declared  that  they  ought  to  be,  or  else  they  threat- 
ened them  with  violence.  In  some  places  the  madness  of  the 
people  reached  such  a  point,  that  the  majority  of  the  citizens 
were  obliged  to  barricade  themselves  in  their  houses  with 


3&>  MILITARY  LIFE. 

some  provisions,  living  shut  up  like  prisoners,  from  the  con- 
tinual danger  of  being  accused  of  being  poisoners  and  killed. 
This  course  aroused  their  suspicions  more  strongly ;  they 
assaulted  the  houses,  and  a  veritable  struggle  ensued.  In 
the  places  and  during  the  days  in  which,  on  account  of  the 
mildness  of  the  disease  the  people  were  less  brutal,  those  ac- 
cused of  poisoning  were  only  vituperated,  beaten,  and  then 
dragged,  covered  with  blood,  before  the  syndic.  Sometimes 
the  municipal  functionaries,  frightened  by  the  exasperation 
of  the  crowd,  did  not  dare  try  to  dissuade  them  from  their 
bloody  designs,  and  exhort  them  to  spare  their  poor  unfort- 
unate victims,  so  replied,  as  they  did  in  the  village  of  San 
Nicola  that,  "  they  had  better  do  what  they  thought  best." 
And  the  reply  had  not  been  made  before  the  wretched  creat- 
ures lay  on  the  ground  immersed  in  blood  and  no  longer 
retaining  any  semblance  to  human  beings.  The  municipali- 
ties, unless  one  makes  an  exception  of  those  in  the  principal 
cities,  menaced  and  abused  every  day  as  they  were,  had  lost 
all  their  authority  and  become  quite  powerless  to  put  in  force 
the  most  necessary  provisions  for  the  public  health,  because  in 
fact  they  were  obliged  to  forestall  and  grant  every  wish  or 
desire  of  the  people  in  order  to  avoid  more  deplorable  conse- 
quences. At  first  the  people  insisted  that  no  living  soul  should 
be  allowed  to  enter  the  place,  and  the  municipality  established 
a  rigorous  cordon  around  the  district,  and  so  all  communica- 
tion was  cut  off ;  but  hardly  did  they  begin  to  feel  the  bad 
effects  of  this  cessation  of  intercourse,  when  they  wished  to 
have  the  cordon  removed ;  they  thus  increased  the  epidemic, 
and  once  more  were  obliged  to  replace  the  cordon.  And  the 
game  thing  happened  with  all  the  other  precautions,  now 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  38 1 

desired,  now  not  wished  for,  according  as  the  malady  in- 
creased or  decreased,  according  to  the  distorted  fancy  of  the 
populace,  or  by  the  different  manifestations  of  some  supposed 
symptoms  which  they  thought  healthful  or  otherwise. 

In  fact  every  thing  was  in  a  state  of  confusion ;  in  every 
place  was  the  saddening  sight  of  poverty  and  fright ;  the 
country  was  overrun  by  a  troop  of  beggars,  and  scattered  with 
sick  people  and  bodies  that  had  been  abandoned.  The  villages 
were  half  depopulated,  all  intercourse  among  people  in  the  cities 
had  ceased,  every  public  place  was  deserted,  every  particle  of 
gaiety  subdued  in  the  life  of  the  working  people,  the  streets 
almost  deserted,  the  doors  and  windows  barred  for  long  dis- 
tances, the  air  impregnated  with  the  nauseating  odor  of  the 
disinfectants  with  which  the  streets  were  sprinkled, — on  every 
side  a  dead  silence  which  was  either  interrupted  by  the  com- 
plaints of  the  poor  and  suffering,  the  laments  of  the  dying,  or 
the  shouts  of  the  seditious  populace.  Such  was  the  condition 
to  which  the  people  of  many  provinces  of  Sicily  and  the  lower 
portion  of  the  Napoletano  were  reduced,  and  perhaps  the  pict- 
ure which  I  have  drawn  only  depicts  in  pallid  colors  the  terri- 
ble truth. 

But  the  painful  feeling  which  is  aroused  in  our  hearts  by 
the  memory  of  those  dark  days,  comes  more  from  the  thought 
that  most  of  the  evils  arose  from  the  almost  savage  igno- 
rance of  the  common  people,  and  in  general  from  the  lack  of 
courage  in  the  citizens  of  all  classes  there,  than  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  terrible  ravages  which  the  cholera  in  itself 
produced.  The  most  disheartening  effect  (although  perhaps 
not  the  most  useless  one)  of  the  misfortune  of  the  cholera,  was 
perhaps  that  of  showing  us  that  we  are  more  backward  in  the 


382  MILITARY  LIFE. 

road  of  civilization  than  we  are  in  the  habit  of  supposing,  that 
the  way  lying  before  is  much  longer  than  it  seemed  at  first,  and 
that  we  must  strike  out  more  seriously  and  boldly.  It  would 
be  difficult  indeed  to  prove  that  on  similar  occasions  in  times 
less  civilized  than  ours,  the  folly  of  the  common  people  was 
carried  further,  or  produced  more  terrible  effects,  and  that,  in 
the  generality  of  people,  to-day  more  than  then,  in  the  presence 
of  misfortunes  and  common  peril  reason  has  conquered  in- 
stinct, charity  selfishness,  and  duty  fear. 

But  what  did  the  army  do  ? 

The  disorder  of  the  administrations,  the  confusion,  and  gen- 
eral fear  had  inspired  audacity  in  the  highwaymen  and  ban- 
dits, and  given  them  an  opportunity  to  spring  up  again  ;  so  that 
both  scoured  the  country  and  cities,  committing  every  kind 
of  depredations  and  violence.  The  troops,  who  could  not  give 
up  their  chase  of  them,  no  matter  how  indispensable  their  as- 
sistance might  be  elsewhere,  found  themselves  surrounded  by 
a  thousand  different  duties,  some  more  dangerous  and  fatiguing 
than  others.  The  numerical  force  of  the  corps,  which  was 
small  in  comparison  with  the  needs  of  ordinary  times,  proved 
quite  insufficient  for  the  service  of  the  hospitals,  sanitary 
cordons,  and  public  security,  at  the  same  time.  All  these  ser- 
vices were  performed,  however,  by  dividing  the  forces  as 
much  as  possible  ;  so  that  it  happened  almost  everywhere  that 
the  soldiers,  never  slept  two  successive  nights  in  the  same  bar- 
racks, and  no  longer  ate  at  prescribed  hours,  but  just  as  it  hap- 
pened, when,  where,  and  as  they  could.  There  was  continual 
motion,  continual  fatigue.  Just  during  those  days  when  re- 
pose, quiet,  and  every  kind  of  precaution  was  really  most  nec- 
essary, it  is  impossible  to  tell  how  much  the  health  of  the 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  383 

soldiers  suffered,  and  how  that  kind  of  life  rendered  almost 
useless  the  great  care  which  was  imposed  upon  all  in  the  clean- 
liness of  the  barracks,  choice  of  food,  and  many  other  precau- 
tions imposed  upon  them  by  their  superiors,  and  diligently  car- 
ried out  under  their  surveillance. 

But    these    services  were   certainly  the   least   burdensome, 
because,  if   not  always,    at    least   ordinarily,  they   were   per- 
formed by  each  soldier  at  certain  brief,  but  regularly  estab- 
lished   intervals,    so    that  they  went   forward  to  meet  all  fa- 
tigues  and   perils  with   their  minds  fully  prepared  for  them. 
The   harder   services  were    those   imposed   upon   them   from 
time  to  time  by  the  unexpected  outbreaks  of  the  people,  in 
the  dead  of  the  night,  sometimes  simultaneously  at  different 
points  in  the  same  place.     A  handful  of  soldiers  were  obliged 
to    sally  forth    against    an  armed  multitude  a  hundred  times 
greater  than  they,  who  beat   furiously  on  the   barrack-doers, 
flung  stones  at   the  windows,  and  threatened  to  set  fire  to  the 
house,  while  shouting  ;  "  Death  to  the  poisoners  !  death  to  the 
assassins  cf  the  people  !  "  together  with  every  other  kind  of 
vituperation.     These  furious  cries  resounded  suddenly  through 
the  silent  dormitories  ;  the  soldiers  sprang  startled  from  their 
beds,    dressed    in  haste ;    the  officers    gathered,    seized  their 
weapons,  and  dashed  furiously  down  the  stairs  to  charge  the 
crowd.      The    crowd  opened,  scattered,   turned,  and  formed 
again,    shouting,  whistling,    throwing  stones,  and  the  soldiers 
charged  them  again  ;  once  more  they  dispersed  ;  and  this  went 
on    for   hours,  all   through   the  night,   sometimes   throughout 
the  following  morning.      When  the  mobs  consisted  of  a  few 
people,  the  soldiers  came  out  unarmed,  tried  to  pacify  them 
by  kind  words,  and   all  their  powers   of  persuasion ;   some- 


384  MILITARY  LIFE. 

•    \ 
times  they  succeeded,  at  others  they  were   attacked,  beaten, 

and  then  they  returned  on  a  run  to  the  barracks,  armed  them- 
selves, came  out  again  ;  the  rioters  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
houses,  and  fired  from  their  windows,  so  that  they  were  obliged 
to  break  down  the  doors,  penetrate  into  the  houses,  and  attack 
them  regularly.  During  the  daytime  there  were  continual 
fatigue  ;  at  night  short  and  interrupted  slumbers  ;  and  danger 
and  anxiety  always. 

Besides  this,  in  most  of  the  districts  the  soldiers  were 
obliged  to  go  and  take  the  bodies  from  the  houses,  carry  them 
to  the  cemeteries  on  the  regiment  wagons,  and  dig  ditches  in 
which  to  bury  them.  At  such  times  the  populace  offered  every 
possible  resistance  ;  they  were  obliged  to  penetrate  into  their 
lurid  dwellings,  bayonet  in  hand,  and  take  possession  of  the 
bodies  by  main  force  These  bodies  they  sometimes  had  to  go 
and  hunt  for  in  the  country,  and  when  the  arms  of  the  soldiers 
did  not  suffice  for  the  work,  they  had  to  force  the  peasants  to 
render  their  assistance  by  threatening  and  dragging  them  to 
the  spot.  They  were  obliged  to  prevent  the  people  from  flying 
from  the  districts,  by  following  and  leading  them  back  by 
force  to  their  houses,  taking  by  the  arm  entire  families,  beggars, 
and  troops  of  women  and  children  who  burst  out  into  tears 
and  cries  of  despair. 

Throughout  all  the  corps  and  detachments  collections 
were  taken  up  for  the  poorest  families  ;  in  some  places  a 
certain  quantity  of  bread  was  distributed  every  day ;  in 
others  meat  and  soup  ;  when  nothing  else  was  to  be  had, 
they  gave  the  remains  of  the  rations,  straw, — old  clothes, 
and  something  at  least.  In  many  corps  they  formed  com- 
mittees for  permanent  succor ;  the  officers  went  every  day  in 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  385 

turn  through  the  houses  of  the  poor  to  carry  them  aid,  give 
advice,  and  watch  over  them  ;  the  soldiers  gave  up  their  straw 
mattresses  to  the  hospitals  ;  offered  spontaneously  to  go  and 
nurse  the  sick  in  the  lazzarettos  and  private  houses,  and  went 
there  and  performed  their  duties  courageously  and  cheerfully  to 
the  end.  In  the  places  where  there  were  no  druggists,  they  went 
and  distributed  the  medicines  in  the  shops,  superintended  by 
military  doctors,  and  they  even  carried  them  to  the  houses 
when  it  was  necessary,  In  other  places  where  even  the  shops 
for  the  necessaries  of  life  were  closed,  they  had  them  opened 
by  force,  and  they  themselves  provided  for  and  superintended 
the  sales.  Often  they  were  obliged  to  keep  the  market  open  ; 
n  part  of  them  watching  over  the  sale  of  the  articles,  and  the 
others  maintaining  the  order  and  peace  which  were  continually 
threatened.  Very  frequently,  either  in  the  villages  or  cities, 
they  had  to  make  and  bake  bread,  a  labor  which  no  one 
wished  to  perform  from  fear  lest  in  perspiring  they  should  con- 
tract the  cholera ;  and  not  infrequently  they  were  reduced  to 
helping  the  carabineers  and  policemen  sweep  the  streets  and 
houses  of  the  poor,  because  there  was  no  one  else  who  would 
make  that  dangerous  exertion.  There  were  the  less  humble 
but  not  less  unusual  and  difficult  duties  which  often  fell  to  the 
officers,  who  were  obliged  to  act  as  syndics  in  the  villages  de- 
serted by  the  authorities,  sometimes  as  physicians  and  always 
as  almoners  and  missionaries  of  civilization  in  the  midst  of 
a  people  stupefied  and  exasperated  by  fear  and  sufferings, 
and  fits  of  fearful  passion.  This  was  the  case,  too,  with  the 
military  doctors,  upon  whom  was  imposed,  in  addition  to  the 
care  of  the  soldiers,  that  of  the  people,  whose  prejudices  they 
were  first  obliged  to  destroy,  and  then  overcome  their  repug- 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

nance  and  hatred  by  reasoning  and  arguing  with  them.  This 
was  the  case  with  the  commandants  of  the  corps  also,  who 
were  overwhelmed  by  a  thousand  needs,  encompassed  with  as 
many  difficulties  and  cares,  always  in  apprehension  for  their 
troops  divided  and  scattered  here  and  there,  and  continually  in 
motion  and  in  danger.  A  terrible  sorrow  for  all  was  that  of 
having  to  say  farewell  every  day  to  so  many  brave  soldiers, 
good  comrades,  and  dear  old  friends. 

But  all  these  services,  sacrifices,  and  works  of  charity,  which, 
though  barely  mentioned,  are  sufficient  to  arouse  in  every  good 
citizen  an  outburst  of  grateful  recognition,  cannot  however,  as 
I  have  already  said,  be  thoroughly  appreciated  and  praised 
unless  one  knew  intimately  with  how  much  zeal  and  in  what 
way  they  were  performed.  This  is  what  I  intend  to  do,  and 
what  matters  it  if  it  be  not  particularly  understood  by  those 
who,  in  the  generous  actions  of  the  soldiers,  are  only  accus- 
tomed to  see  and  appreciate  the  immediate  and  natural  effects 
of  the  discipline  which  commands  and  castigates,  but  never 
the  natural  and  spontaneous  effects  of  the  heart,  which  that 
same  discipline  educates  and  softens.  It  is  true,  in  fact, 
that  in  ordinary  times,  when  the-  soldier  does  not  compre- 
hend or  see,  or  sees  too  far  away  in  the  distance  the  fruit  of 
the  mite  which  was  asked  of  him  in  aid  of  some  public  mis- 
fortune, or  when  he  does  not  understand  the  absolute  neces- 
sity of  some  other  sacrifice,  and  fancies  there  is  some  one  else 
who  can  or  ought  to  make  it  in  his  stead,  the  desires  or  sug- 
gestions of  the  superiors  generally  assume,  first,  the  form,  the 
intention,  and  therefore  the  effect  of  direct  and  absolute  com- 
mands, so  that  the  merit  of  spontaneity  cannot  be  attributed  to 
the  acts  which  follow  ;  but  this,  for  different  reasons,  could  not 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  387 

have  happened  on  the  occasion  of  the  cholera,  because  at  that 
time,  in  the  majority  of  the  cases,  the  soldiers  understood  and 
saw  clearly  that  the  health  of  the  districts  in  which  they  were, 
was  intrusted  to  their  care  ;  that  in  certain  moments  of  ex- 
tremity there  was  no  one  but  them  who  could  prevent  great 
misfortunes ;  their  every  act  and  sacrifice  produced  its  immedi-j 
ate  and  visible  effect,  there  was  the  fleshless  hand  of  some 
starving  person  outstretched  to  grasp  every  bit  of  money  or 
piece  of  bread  that  they  offered.  Pity  was  kept  alive  by  the 
continual  spectacle  of  misfortune,  and  there  was  no  room  for  any 
doubt  or  diffidence  by  which  the  sentiment  of  that  pity  could 
grow  lukewarm  or  make  them  hesitate.  Neither  can  one  rea- 
sonably suppose  that  the  influence  of  their  superiors  had  any 
part  in  the  charitable  works,  that  were  not  performed  by  the 
obligation  of  duty  or  from  any  other  absolute  necessity,  for 
these  needs  and  obligations  were  so  frequent  and  so  grave  in 
themselves  that  no  superior  could  have  made  any  such  pre- 
tence without  a  sting  of  conscience.  Besides  which,  as  the 
corps  were  for  the  greater  part  divided  into  very  small  detach- 
ments, and  these  same  detachments  performed  their  labors 
after  another  subdivision,  the  influence  which  the  superior 
officers  could  exercise  over  their  subordinates,  in  order  to  ob- 
tain any  thing  beyond  their  duty,  was  very  trifling  ;  it  would 
have  been  insufficient  also  in  making  them  do  their  duty,  if 
there  had  been  in  reality  any  need  of  such  influence.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  orders  of  the  superiors  never  reached  the  point 
which  the  soldier's  work  did,  because  certain  sacrifices  are  of 
such  a  nature,  that  they  cannot  be  imposed  in  any  way  or  for 
any  end  ;  and  my  readers  will  see  what  these  were,  and  how 
the  officers  and  soldiers  of  every  corps  performed  them.  But 


388  MILITARY  LIFE. 

if  all  these  reasons  should  not  be  sufficient  to  convince  the  in- 
credulous, or  should  the  colors  of  the  picture  which  I  place 
before  my  readers'  eyes  appear  too  vivid  or  too  fanciful,  there 
would  always  be  in  confirmation  of  what  I  have  asserted,  the 
unanimous  testimony  of  the  populations,  or  that,  not  valid  for 
all,  but  quite  certain  and  sacred  for  me,  of  my  many  com- 
panions in  arms  and  the  friends  who  saw  and  narrated  what  the 
soldiers  did  or  how  they  did  it,  with  their  hearts  filled  with 
gratitude  and  pride.  From  the  light  of  their  eyes  and  the 
sound  of  their  voices  I  attained  the  deep  conviction  which 
moves  my  heart  and  pen. 

Generally  the  companies  were  only  united  at  evening,  in  the 
dormitory,  at  the  hour  of  retreat.  While  waiting  the  signal  of 
the  drum  for  the  roll-call,  the  soldiers  related  to  one  another 
what  they  had  seen  and  done  during  the  day;  some  of  them 
seated  on  their  beds,  others  leaning  against  the  windows,  the 
remainder  in  groups  in  the  middle  of  the  dormitories.  There 
were  none  of  those  movements,  songs,  laughs,  or  deafening 
shouts  of  joy,  which  in  ordinary  times  are  so  pleasant  in  the 
barracks  at  evening.  Most  of  the  soldiers  were  motionless, 
and  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  a  subdued  whispering,  in- 
terrupted here  and  there  by  some  exclamation  of  surprise, 
anger,  or  pity,  and  long  intervals  of  silence,  in  which  you 
would  have  said  that  all  were  sleeping.  The  soldiers  who 
gradually  arrived  went  quietly  to  their  beds,  and  laying  down 
their  fatigue  caps  and  belts,  joined  the  different  groups,  each 
one  quoting  the  last  rumor  in  the  district,  which  was  always 
one  of  misfortune.  Any  one  not  knowing  it  otherwise,  would 
have  been  able  to  understand  what  was  being  thought  and  said 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  389 

in  those  groups,  by  simply  looking  in  every  room  at  the  few 
faces  lighted  up  by  the  small  lantern  placed  over  the  door. 

"  Do  you  know,"  one  said,  "  that  they  have  killed  a  cara- 
bineer at  Grammichele  ?  The  soldiers  found  him  dead  in  a 
ditch  ;  they  say  that  his  face  was  all  beaten  out  of  shape,  so 
that  it  was  irrecognizable,  and  the  arms  and  legs  half  gnawed 
by  the  dogs  ? "  Some  one  asked  why  he  had  been  killed. 
"  Because  he  poisoned  people,"  replied  the  first,  and  a  bitter 
smile  passed  over  the  lips  of  the  listeners.  "  Have  you  heard 
the  news  ? "  said  others,  "  At  Belpasso  they  have  killed  the 
delegate  of  public  safety  ;  at  Monreale  they  have  fired  upon 
the  sharp-shooters  ;  in  Ardore  they  have  killed  and  beaten  to 
pieces  the  captain  of  the  national  guard,  and  Second  Lieuten- 
ant Gazzone  In  some  other  place  they  have  fastened  to  the 
walls  a  proclamation,  which  says  that  they  must  burn  and  cut 
the  throats  of  the  soldiers  and  destroy  all  the  barracks.  .  .  . 
All  this  because  we  poison  the  people." 

A  sound  of  the  drum  was  heard,  the  companies  drew  up  in 
line,  answered  the  roll-call ;  half  the  soldiers  were  absent.  The 
quartermaster-sergeant  read  their  names,  and  when  any  one 
was  lacking,  the  corporal  of  the  week,  erect  beside  him,  note- 
book in  hand,  said  in  a  low  voice  :  "  He  is  ill  at  the  lazzaretto  ; 
he  is  on  the  patrol  in  the  country  ;  he  is  on  the  round  in  the 
district ;  he  is  on  duty  at  the  cemetery  ;  he  is  dead,"  and  these 
last  words  were  followed  by  a  movement  of  surprise  and  a 
murmur  of  compassion.  "  Silence  !  "  shouted  the  quartes- 
master-sergeant ;  "  attention  to  the  duties  for  to-morrow."  And 
he  read  the  names  of  those  who  were  detailed  for  various  ser- 
vices on  the  following  day,  and  generally  all  present  were  ap- 
pointed for  the  same  duty.  No  one  breathed..  Some  on  hear- 


39°  MILITARY  LIFE. 

ing  their  names  among  those  detailed  for  the  service  of  nurse 
at  the  hospital,  could  not  restrain  a  feeling  of  repugnance  and 
displeasure  ;  so  raised  their  eyes  and  shook  their  heads. 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  suddenly  asked  the  sergeant,  who  had 
noticed  the  movement.  "  Nothing."  "  Then  keep  quiet." 
And  the  poor  fellows  did  not  move  again,  this  being  the  grav- 
est protest  made  by  the  boldest  and  least  docile. 

On  the  evenings  of  the  days  in  which  the  cholera  had  com- 
mitted the  greatest  ravages  throughout  the  country  and  among 
the  troops,  one  could  see  all  the  soldiers  quite  intent  at  roll- 
call,  motionless  as  statues,  and  their  faces  wearing  an  expres- 
sion rather  of  astonishment  than  sorrow,  their  souls  being 
more  stunned  than  saddened  by  such  great  misfortunes.  "  Such 
and  such  a  one  ? "  asked  the  quartermaster-sergeant.  "  He 
was  seized  by  the  cholera  a  moment  ago,  and  they  have  car- 
ried him  to  the  lazzaretto,"  replied  the  corporal.  "  Such  and 
such  another  one  ?""  The  man  called  replied  from  the  lines  : 
"  Present,"  but  in  a  forced  and  weak  voice,  in  which  one  could 
hear  the  effect  of  the  sad  news.  Then  a  deeper  silence  than 
usual  followed. 

Qn  such  evenings  the  officer  usually  gave  them  some  words 
of  encouragement  and  comfort.  He  placed  himself  in  front  of 
the  company,  glanced  at  the  faces  in  the  first  line,  and  then 
said  what  he  had  to  say,  always  ending  with  a :  "  Keep  up  your 
courage,"  which  was  followed  by  a  slight  movement  along  the 
line,  which  meant  "  Thanks."  A  sign  to  the  quartermaster-ser- 
geant, a  word  to  the  sergeant  of  the  week,  and  then,  "  Good- 
night," he  would  add,  almost  involuntarily,  as  if  responding  to 
an  imperious  movement  of  his  heart,  and  then  go  away.  And 
the  soldiers  followed  him  with  their  eyes,  which  was  worth 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  391 

more  than  a  mere  good- by.  How  many  times,  on  going  out  of 
that  dormitory,  the  officer  said  sadly  to  himself :  "  Perhaps  to- 
morrow all  my  good  soldiers  will  not  be  there  !  "  And  how 
many  times  the  soldiers,  in  seeing  the  officer  go  out,  pale  and 
worn,  and  behind  him  the  orderly  with  an  expression  of  sad 
suspicion  on  his  face,  have  said  among  themselves  :  "  Perhaps 
we  shall  never  see  our  officer  again  !  " 

When  the  officer  had  gone,  the  quartermaster-sergeant  dis- 
tributed the  letters.  Oh,  a  letter  from  home  in  those  days  and 
those  places  !  The  fortunate  ones  who  heard  their  names 
called  could  hardly  restrain  an  expression  of  joy  ;  the  others 
impatiently  tapped  their  feet  and  stretched  out  their  hands. 
"  Mine."  "  Give  me  mine."  "  You  have  not  given  me  mine  yet." 
"Are.  you  not  going  to  give  me  one?"  "Silence,  and  back 
to  your  place  !  "  shouted  the  quartermaster-sergeant.  Instantly 
all  were  silent  and  motionless  as  marble,  and  fancy  what  self- 
control  they  had  to  exercise  in  order  to  conquer  that  fever  ! 
The  quartermaster-sergeant  stood  looking  at  them  for  a  mo- 
ment with  a  frown,  then  distributed  the  letters  ;  the  company 
separated  in  silence,  and  every  one  went  to  bed. 

Late  at  night  those  who  could  not  sleep  heard  a  sound  of 
slow  steps  and .  subdued  voices  through  the  dormitories,  and 
raising  their  heads  saw  the  officer  of  the  guard  and  the  ser- 
geant of  the  week  passing  along  the  rows  of  beds,  stopping  be- 
fore those  that  were  empty,  the  one  questioning,  the  other  re- 
plying, then  both  pausing  for  a  moment  in  going  out,  quite  mo- 
tionless in  the  door-way,  as  if  absorbed  in  a  common  thought, 
which  it  was  easy  to  divine.  "  If  any  thing  happens,"  the  officer 
would  say  in  an  undertone,  "come  and  tell  me  instantly." 
"Let  us  hope  there  will  be  nothing."  "Let  us  hope  so  indeed." 


392  MILITARY  LIFE. 

And  these  words  were  always  accompanied  by  a  sigh,  which  re- 
vealed a  sentiment  quite  different,  and  one,  unfortunately, 
which  was  generally  much  better  founded.  An  hour  after  the 
expression  of  that  hope  the  soldiers  were  suddenly  aroused  by 
an  outburst  of  sharp  cries,  languid  moans,  and  saw  their  com- 
panions spring  to  their  feet,  crowd  around  a  bed,  heard  the 
officer  of  the  guard  come  hurriedly  in  with  the  doctor  and  sol- 
diers of  the  guard,  and  then  in  a  few  moments  all  make  way, 
and  four  of  the  soldiers  moving  off,  carrying  a  straw  ticking 
with  a  dying  man  stretched  on  it,  then  a  little  whispering,  and 
finally  to  bed  once  more,  and  a  return  of  the  former  silence. 
In  the  morning,  as  soon  as  they  are  awake,  "  Corporal  of  the 
week,"  the  soldiers  ask  anxiously,  "...  well  ? "  "  He  is 
dead,"  the  latter  replies.  "  Dead  !  "  and  they  look  one  another 
in  the  face. 

In  many  corps,  and  in  some  more  than  once,  did  it  happen 
that  an  officer  and  his  orderly  were  seized  with  the  cholera  at 
one  time.  And  in  all  these  corps  I  have  heard  it  said  the  same 
scene  was  repeated.  In  the  evening,  after  the  roll-call,  the 
quartermaster-sergeant  announced  the  misfortune  to  the  com- 
pany. "  Who  will  take  care  of  the  officer  ? " 

"  I."  "  I."  "  I  too."  "  But  I  said  so  first,  and  it  is  useless 
for  you  to  speak."  "  Oh  !  come  now  !  I  am  at  liberty  to  speak 
too."  "  But  I  was  the  first."  "But  I  tell  you.  .  .  ." 

"  Will  you  stop  or  not  ?"  shouted  the  quartermaster-sergeant. 
All  were  silent.  "  You  shall  take  care  of  him,"  he  said,  point- 
ing to  the  soldier  who  offered  first.  The  latter  gave  a  smile  of 
triumph,  and  the  others  were  obliged  to  be  resigned.  The  fol- 
lowing morning,  before  dawn,  the  generous  nurse  was  beside 
the  sick  officer's  bed,  and  there  he  passed  long  days,  alone, 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  393 

silent,  and  watchful,  watching  every  night  by  the  light  of  a  lan- 
tern, while  seated  on  a  chair  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  If 
any  one  could  have  been  present  when  the  invalid,  coming  to 
himself  and  looking  around,  and  not  recognizing  him,  asked  : 
"Who  are  you  ?"  and  then,  hearing  the  name,  asked  :  "Who 
sent  you  ?  "  To  which  the  good  soldier  replied  :  "  I  came 
because  I  wanted  to  do  so."  "And  why?"  It  cannot 
be  expressed  in  words  what  the  soldier's  eyes  replied,  and  what 
passed  in  his  heart  as  he  pressed  the  thin  hand  that  was  put 
out  in  search  of  his.  At  other  times,  instead,  the  soldier 
returned  to  the  barracks  after  a  few  days,  and  as  soon  as  he 
entered  went  and  seated  himself  on  his  bed  and  began  poking 
the  ramrod  of  his  musket  into  the  barrel,  this  being  an  occupa- 
tion in  which  a  man  is  obliged  to  keep  his  head  down  and  can 
thus  hide  his  eyes. 

The  officers  visited  assiduously  the  sick  in  the  hospitals,  and 
generally  went  in  numbers  to  visit  all,  so  that  no  one  would 
have  a  chance  of  growing  sad  or  dispirited  in  seeing  his  com- 
rades and  not  himself  comforted.  Those  visits  had  become  an 
absolute  necessity  for  the  poor  sick  men.  At  the  usual  hour 
they  heard  the  clanking  of  the  swords  on  the  stairs,  the  sound 
of  the  voices,  glanced  at  the  door  in  expectation,  and  when 
they  appeared  and  scattered  through  the  wards  of  the  hospital, 
every  face  became  quieter,  and  even  in  the  motionless  eyes  of 
those  most  dangerously  ill,  there  lay  a  slight  ray  of  hope  and 
comfort.  Poor  young  fellows  !  There  were  days  when  the 
sound  of  the  swords  was  heard  an  hour  later  than  usual,  and 
during  that  time  they  were  all  ears  and  eyes  waiting  for  the 
slightest  noise  or  movement.  They  fancied  they  heard  those 
steps  and  voices  at  every  moment,  and  they  went  on  imagining 


394  MILITARY  LIFE. 

what  could  have  prevented  them  from  coming,  what  misfort- 
une could  have  happened,  and  in  that  state  of  anxiety  the 
sense  of  their  sufferings  became  more  intense.  "  They  don't 
come,  and  they  won't  come  now,  and  I  am  so  ill,  I  shall 
not  last  until  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  die  all  alone 
Ah  !  here  they  are  !  "  This  moment  was  too  sweet  for  words. 
The  nurses  in  the  military  hospitals  were  all  soldiers,  o 
course  ;  but  in  many  places  they  were  nurses  in  the  other 
hospitals  too,  and  for  the  entire  time  during  which  no  one 
was  to  be  found  among  the  populace  who  would  render  this 
service,  not  even  with  the  promise  of  large  payments,  be- 
cause the  fear  of  death  outweighed  any  cupidity  for  money, 
as  well  as  any  feeling  of  pity.  The  soldiers  offered  their 
services  spontaneously.  The  officer  of  the  week  asked  : 
"  Who  will  go  ?  "  And  half  companies  took  a  step  forward 
or  raised  their  hands.  When  the  question  was  put  to  an  en- 
tire battalion,  on  the  parade  ground,  in  the  presence  of  many 
people,  the  reply  was  a  solemn  and  touching  sight.  One  day, 
on  the  slopes  of  Mount  Pellegrino,  near  Palermo,  six  or  seven 
companies  of  the  53d  infantry  were  standing  drawn  up  in 
line  of  battle,  after  the  drill  was  over,  when  the  colonel  and 
major,  both  on  horseback,  stopped  in  front  of  the  middle 
company,  and  the  former  made  a  sign  that  he  wished  to  speak. 
The  officers  ordered  silence.  The  colonel  told  them  in  a  loud 
voice  of  the  sad  state  of  the  city — the  cholera  had  been  raging 
there  for  days, — of  the  hospitals  in  which  nurses  were  lacking ; 
of  the  duty  involving  upon  every  good  citizen  to  lend  his  as- 
sistance in  the  time  of  public  misfortune,  and  ended  by  saying, 
louder  still :  "  I  impose  no  duty  upon  you  ;  I  exhort  you  to 
a  sacrifice  ;  all  are  at  liberty  to  reply  yes  or  no,  according  as 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  395 

their  hearts  dictate.  But  before  consenting  each  man  must 
measure  the  strength  of  his  soul,  and  reflect  that  the  office  of 
nurse  is  a  very  noble  but  a  grave  one,  and  one  not  without 
danger — and  that  he  must  lend  his  assistance  with  great  cour- 
age and  great  affection — or  refuse  it.  Those  who  are  ready 
to  offer  their  services,  kneel !  " 

Almost  in  one  instant  the  whole  battalion  knelt,  as  if  at  a 
shout  of  command,  and  above  all  those  heads  appeared, 
straight  and  distinct,  their  four  hundred  muskets. 

But  the  place  where  the  soldiers  exercised  their  charity 
most  admirably  was  in  the  help  of  the  poor. 

"  When  I  went  in  to  the  barracks,"  said  an  officer  of  the  54th, 
who  had  been  commanding  for  some  time  a  detachment  at  St. 
Cataldo,  "  I  was  accompanied  every  day  by  a  troop  of  poor 
people  :  the  women  behind  with  children  hanging  to  their 
necks';  before  and  at  my  side  boys  with  outstretched  hands, 
complaining  and  crying.  Another  body  of  beggars  was  waiting 
for  me  at  the  door,  and  all  surrounded,  pressed  about,  and 
seized  me  by  my  jacket,  and  deafened  me  with  groans  and 
supplicating  cries.  I  had  all  I  could  do  to  free  myself, 
and  generally,  I  should  not  have  succeeded  if  the  soldiers 
of  the  guard  had  not  come  to  my  assistance,  by  breaking 
through  the  crowd  by  blows  and  threats.  Many  times  the 
mere  empty  threats  did  not  suffice,  they  had  to  seize  their  bayo- 
nets and  pretend  to  charge,  and  then  only  did  the  crowd  begin 
to  move  away  from  me,  but  only  for  a  little  while,  for  if  I  had 
not  been  quick  in  getting  through  the  door,  they  would  have 
returned  again.  Many  of  those  unfortunates  were  seated  on 
the  doorstep  all  day  long ;  some  slept  there  at  night ;  no  one 
was  lacking  at  the  hour  of  the  rations,  when  the  soldiers  carried 


396  MIL1TAR  Y  LIFE. 

out  the  kettles  with  the  remains  of  the  soup.  Then  there  was 
a  bustle,  and  such  a  shouting  that  it  could  not  be  quieted  even 
by  force.  They  were  so  hungry  that  they  could  not  stand,  and 
each  one  wished  to  be  first  to  put  his  spoon  into  the  broth  ; 
they  all  sprang  together  at  the  kettles,  dashed  their  soup  plates 
in  by  tens,  pushing  and  repelling  each  other,  shrieking  like  mad- 
men,— women,  old  men,  children,  altogether  ;  all  with  thin 
faces,  wearing  expressions  that  were  half  bitter,  half  insen- 
sate, which  aroused  at  that  moment  both  fear  and  pity  ;  they 
were  dirty,  ragged,  half  nude,  and  in  a  state  which  excited  the 
greatest  repugnance.  At  such  moments  the  soldiers  allowed 
them  to  do  as  they  chose,  nor  could  I  pretend  to  hold  them  to 
their  duty,  save  in  cases  where  they  were  inclined  to  hurt 
some  one  ;  but  hardly  had  the  confusion  ceased,  when  we 
called  the  women  and  children  (who  generally  got  nothing)  apart, 
one  by  one,  and  gave  them  something  to  eat,  keeping  back  the 
others  who  crowded  around  and  began  to  beg  again.  This 
was  an  every-day  occurrence.  I  say  nothing  of  the  soldiers 
who  were  stopped  at  every  moment  in  the  streets  by  entire 
families  of  beggars,  surrounded  and  persecuted,  so  that  they 
were  obliged  to  remain  in  the  barracks,  and  content  themselves 
by  walking  in  the  court-yard.  Yet  they  preferred  remaining  in 
that  place  where  the  poor  left  them  no  peace,  rather  than  in 
the  others  where  they  fled  from  them  for  fear  of  being  poisoned  ; 
in  fact,  they  took  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  being  implored  and 
persecuted,  in  seeing  themselves  made,  in  a  measure,  the  slaves 
of  those  poor  people — a  satisfaction  which  arises  from  pity 
when  one  is  able  to  express  and  exercise  it  with  benefit.  And 
those  good  soldiers  did  feel  pity,  and  they  exercised  their 
benevolence  witli  the  best  heart  in  the  world.  Not  only  did 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  397 

they  bestow  charity  on  their  own  account,  when  they  could  do 
so,  and  the  occasion  offered  ;  but  every  time  that  I,  being 
obliged  by  some  overwhelming  need  of  the  country,  had  re- 
course to  their  pocket-books  after  having  exhausted  my  own,  I 
found  them  all,  without  one  exception,  generously  disposed  to 
give  every  thing,  even  to  the  little  wine  which  they  drank  on 
Sundays  bought  with  the  few  sous  saved  during  the  week.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  the  last  collection  was  taken  up  for  a  poor 
family  of  the  place,  whose  father  and  mother  had  died  of  the 
cholera,  an  entire  family  of  girls,  the  oldest  of  whom  was  only 
twelve.     '  See  if  we  can  get  any  thing,'  I  said  to  the  sergeant. 
'  I  will,'  he  replied,  '  but  you  must  expect  little  or  nothing,  for 
they  are  almost  more  needy  than  the  people  here.'     '  I  under- 
stand that,'  I  added,  '  but  try  in  every  way  ;  no  matter  how 
little  you  get,  that  lijttle  will  be  better  than  nothing.'     He  went 
up  to  the  dormitory,  the  soldiers  were  seated  on  the  floor  in  a 
circle,  as  if  around  a  great  fable,  eating  and  chatting,  with  the 
little  gaiety  that  was  possible  in  those  days  and  in  those  locali- 
ties.    The  sergeant  approached  them.     '  Give  me  your  atten- 
tion for  a  moment ! '    They  were  all  silent.     '  Yesterday  morn- 
ing, here  in  this  place,  six  children  were  left  without  mother  or 
father.     Who  will  give  something  so  that  they  will  not  be  left 
to  die  of  starvation  ? ' 

"  The  soldiers  looked  at  each  other  as  much  as  to  say  :  '  What 
can  we  give  now  ?  the  cover  of  the  account-book  to  have  it 
boiled  ? ' 

"  '  Courage,'  went  on  the  sergeant ;  '  give  me  some  sort  of  an 
answer.' 

"  One  soldier  rose,  and  showing  a  sou  in  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
asked  :  '  Do  you  want  that  ? ' 


39^  MILITAR  Y  LIFE. 

"  '  Even  that  is  something,'  replied  the  sergeant,  taking  the 
sou.  '  Are  there  any  more  ?' 

"  '  If  it  is  only  the  question  of  a  sou,  I  have  one  too,'  replied 
another,  throwing  him  the  sou. 

"'Is  a  sou  enough?'  asked  a  third.  'Yes,  quite  enough.' 
'  I  have  one  too.'  '  I  too.'  And  so  all  the  soldiers  handed 
him  their  sou  one  after  another,  and  the  sergeant,  as  he  took 
them,  said  to  each  :  '  Bravo  !  Well  done  !  Capital  !  Ah, 
what  good  fellows  ! '  he  exclaimed  when  he  had  all  the  sous  in 
his  hand,  but  one  thing  more.' 

"  '  What  ? '  asked  all  the  soldiers. 

" '  Bread.' 

" '  Bread  ?  If  that  is  all,'  several  replied,  '  there  is  more 
than  enough."  And  first  one  and  then  another  cut  a  slice 
from  his  loaf  of  black  bread. 

"  '  Where  shall  we  put  it  ? '  asked  one. 

"  A  Corporal  took  a  ramrod  and  stuck  on  to  it  all  the  slices 
as  fast  as  they  were  handed  him.  The  soldiers  laughed. 

"  '  Now  who  will  carry  the  money  and  bread  to  the  children  ?' 
asked  the  sergeant. 

"  '  The  handsomest  man,'  replied  some  voice.  All  laughed, 
and  approved  the  proposition. 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  the  handsomest  man ;  let 's  search  for  him  !  Who 
can  this  beauty  be  ? ' 

"  '  I,'  exclaimed  a  Neapolitan  soldier,  who  had  the  reputation 
of  being  the  ugliest  in  the  regiment,  and  among  the  laughs  of 
his  comrades,  he  stepped  forward,  put  the  money  in  his  pocket, 
took  the  ramrod  with  the  bread,  and  prepared  to  go  out  with 
the  sergeant.  All  the  others  clapped  their  hands.  '  Oh, 
come  now,'  shouted  the  Neapolitan,  turning  and  facing  his 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  399 

comrades.  '  Will  you  stop  ?  What  a  shame  to  laugh  be- 
hind the  back  of  a  man  who  is  going  to  perform  a  work 
of  charity.'  And  then  he  departed  while  a  prolonged  laugh 
broke  out  in  the  room.  The  sergeant  met  me  on  the  stairs, 
and  fancying  that  I  was  going  up,  said  in  a  voice  full  of  emo- 
tion :  '  Oh,  Mr.  Lieutenant !  what  a  good  set  of  fellows  we 
have  in  our  company  ! ' ' 

This  narrative,  I  heard  from  an  officer  of  the  54th.  And 
what  the  soldiers  did  in  that  district,  the  others  belonging  to  the 
54th  did  in  the  city  of  Caltanisetta,  so  that  this  regiment  was  a 
real  providence.  This  was  done  by  the  iSth  infantry  at  Terra- 
sini,  for  the  two  families  who  took  care  of  the  poor  sub-lieu- 
tenant, Viale,  and  the  sergeant,  Imberti ;  the  6th  battalion  of 
sharp-shooters  and  the  loth  regiment  of  infantry  worked  in 
the  same  way  at  Messina  ;  as  did  also  the  58th  at  Petralia  Sot- 
tana  ;  the  38th  battalion  of  sharp-shooters  at  Monreale  ;  the 
6yth  infantry  and  the  i5th  battalion  of  sharp-shooters'  at"  Longo- 
bucco  ;  the  68th  infantry  at  Reggiodi  Calabria  ;  the  lancers  of 
Foggia  at  Misilmeri ;  the  25th  battalion  of  sharp-shooters  at 
Rocca  d'  Anfo  ;  the  7th  infantry  at  Mantua,  together  with 
those  at  the  fort  in  Bard,  and  the  free  lancers  of  Aosta ;  and 
who  knows  how  many  other  corps  did  as  much,  without  any 
notice  being  taken  of  it,  simply  because  none  of  the  benefactors 
wished  to  speaker  write  of  it.  Yet  just  at  that  time  there  were 
some  people  who  asked  severely  of  the  government  for  what 
reason  it  maintained  such  a  "  colossal "  army,  if  it  expected  to 
"  civilize  the  country  with  bayonets,"  if  it  would  not  be  better 
to  turn  so  many  "  lazy  "  barracks  into  as  many  hospitals,  and 
if  the  money  spent  in  such  high  pay  would  not  be  better  em- 
ployed in  alleviating  so  much  misery,  etc.  These  things  were 


400  MILITARY  LIFE. 

being  said  while  the  soldier  was  dividing  his  bread  with  the 
poor,  and  fighting,  suffering,  and  dying  for  the  health  of  the 
country. 

Sometimes  the  municipalities  to  whom  the  soldiers  rendered 
great. service,  offered  them  in  compensation  the  little  money 
which  they  had  at  their  disposal ;  and  these  municipalities  were 
not  a  few  in  numbers.  But  the  money  was  always  refused,  and 
facts  and  names  can  be  cited  to  prove  it.  The  municipality  of 
Licata,  toward  the  end  of  August,  offered  one  hundred  lire  to 
the  pth  company  of  the  57th  regiment.  The  evening  of  the 
i4th,  Captain  Pompeo  Praga  returned  to  the  barracks  at  the 
retreat  to  announce  to  his  soldiers  the  municipality's  offer. 
They  were  all  drawn  up  in  the  dormitory,  and  the  quarter- 
master-sergeant was  calling  the  roll.  The  captain  interrupted 
him  and  gave  his  news,  adding  : 

"  Quartermaster,  let  this  sum  be  divided  among  all  to-mor- 
row morning  before  rations." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"  Mr.  Captain,"  murmured  an  uncertain  voice  in  the  lines. 

"  Who  spoke  ?  "  asked  the  captain.  No  one  replied.  "  Who 
spoke  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I,"  replied  a  soldier. 

"  What  did  you  wish  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  wished  to  say  that,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  (and  he 
glanced  bashfully  around  as  if  to  seek  an  expression  of  assent 
in  his  comrades'  faces),  it  seems  to  me  that  a  sou  more  or 
less,  is  the  same  thing  for  us,  and  it  would  be  better,  it  seems 
to  me  .  .  ." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  captain. 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  4OI 

"  There  are  so  many  poor  in  this  place." 

His  comrades  understood  his  thought,  and  whispered : 
"  Certainly,  a  capital  idea  !  It  would  be  better  to  do  so.  It  is 
better  to  give  the  money  to  the  poor." 

The  captain  allowed  the  murmur  to  subside,  and  then  said  : 
"  Listen.  I  want  you  all  to  tell  me  frankly  what  you  think  ;  I 
do  not  wish  that  any  of  you  should  refuse  the  municipality's 
offer  to  please  me,  for  that  would  cause  me  great  displeasure. 
Nor  do  I  wish  the  majority  to  impose  their  wish  upon  the  few. 
You  deserve  this  money  ;  you  have  worked,  suffered,  done 
good,  and  it  is  no  more  than  just  that  you  should  have  this 
compensation.  To  advise  you  to  deprive  yourselves  of  it  would 
be  unjust,  and  I  refrain  from  doing  so.  In  fact,  I  tell 
you  that  you  would  do  well  to  accept  it.  Courage,  be  quite 
frank  ;  if  any  among  you  have  need  of  his  portion  of  the  money, 
tell  me  without  fear  or  shame,  as  you  would  a  friend  ;  I  should 
not  admire  a  man  who  accepted  it  less  than  one  who  refused  it ; 
I  simply  wish  that  any  one  who  needs  the  money  should  say  so. 
Courage  !  Is  there  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one  !  " 

"  Not  even  one  ?  "  and  he  watched  every  face. 

"  No  one,"  they  all  repeated,  and  the  tone  of  voice  and  ex- 
pression of  their  eyes  attested  to  the  spontaneity  of  the  act. 

"  Bravo  !  "  exclaimed  the  captain  quickly.  "  To-morrow 
I  shall  go  to  the  municipality,  and  I  shall  say  to  those  gentle- 
men that  the  pth  company  of  the  57th  regiment  offers  100  lire 
in  charity  to  the  poor  of  Licata." 

What  they  did  in  Licata  they  did  in  Aosta,  Scansano,  Genoa, 
and  many  other  places,  whose  names  would  fill  these  pages. 
But  I  cannot  be  silent  about  you,  brave  Zamela — a  sapper  in 


402  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  engineers,  who,  having  heard  of  the  misfortunes  with 
which  your  poor  Messina  was  afflicted,  sent  thirty  lire  to  the 
syndic,  writing  him  :  "They  gave  me  this  money  because  I 
nursed  the  cholera  patients  in  my  regiment ;  and  I  have  nothing 
more  ;  but  this  little  I  give  with  all  my  heart  to  the  poor  of  my 
native  place." 

Works  of  charity  are  always  praiseworthy  and  very  estimable, 
even  if  the  impulse  which  prompts  us  to  perform  them  is  noth- 
ing but  the  desire  for  the  gratitude  and  affection  of  those  bene- 
fited. But  when  not  even  gratitude  accrues  from  the  work, 
and  those  who  ought  to  love  and  bless  us,  return  our  charity 
with  hatred,  and  suspect  snare  in  the  offer  and  crime  in  the 
benefit ;  and  yet,  despite  this  we  persist  in  doing  good,  loving 
and  pardoning  with  no  other  motive  power  than  pity,  without 
any  other  comfort  than  our  conscience,  then  we  have  a  greater 
right  to  esteem  and  praise  than  is  usually  bestowed  upon  the 
common  virtues.  I  refer  to  the  generous  work  of  the  soldiers 
in  those  places  where  it  was  supposed  they  were  scattering 
poison  by  order  of  the  government,  and  the  people  hated  and 
cursed  them.  Unfortunately,  these  places  were  not  a  few  in 
number. 

At  last,  when  they  saw  that  the  soldiers  died  also,  that  all 
those  whom  they  carried  to  the  hospitals  were  not  poisoned, 
that  in  fact  the  survivors  never  ceased  praising  the  care  and 
affection  with  which  they  had  been  nursed  and  watched  over, 
the  senseless  superstition  disappeared.  But  that  the  soldiers 
poisoned  the  people  was  at  first  a  universal  belief,  a  profound 
conviction,  a  fact  which  it  would  not  have  been  proper  to 
doubt.  There  was  no  one  who  would  not  have  sworn  to  it  in 
perfect  faith  if  the  occasion  had  offered.  Every  one  held, 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  403 

though  they  had  seen  nothing,  that  there  were  a  thousand  un- 
deniable indications  and  proofs  of  that  horrible  conspiracy. 
And  one  of  these  proofs,  one  of  the  most  telling,  the  common 
people  saw  in  that  very  solicitude  of  the  soldiers,  in  their  wish- 
ing to  go  everywhere,  meddle  in  every  thing  uncalled  for  and 
unforced,  under  the  pretence  of  exercising  a  charity  which  they, 
could  not  believe  was  really  felt  by  persons  like  them,  who  were 
paid  by  the  government,  upholders  of  the  government,  and 
therefore,  necessarily,  enemies  of  the  people.  That  charity 
could  only  be  a  mask  ;  those  works  of  beneficence  nothing  but 
a  pretext,  a  means  to  a  hidden  aim  ;  they  could  not  explain 
why  the  soldier,  the  instrument  of  an  inimical  government, 
should  extend  one  pitying  hand  to  the  poor  and  sick,  if  it  were 
not  to  prepare  them  for  death  by  the  other.  In  consequence 
of  this  conviction  and  fear  it  is  easy  to  imagine  how  the  com- 
mon people  treated  the  soldiers. 

One  of  the  cities  in  which  there  was  the  strongest  belief  in 
the  poisoning  was  Catania,  where  the  pth  regiment  of  infantry 
was  in  garrison. 

The  soldiers,  in  their  hours  of  liberty,  never  went  alone 
into  the  city ;  but  always  in  threes,  fours,  or  a  larger  num- 
ber, in  order  to  be  quite  secure  from  violence,  or  hold  in 
check  any  who  wished  to  insult  or  harm  them  in  an  under- 
hand way.  They  almost  always  went  through  the  principal 
streets  and  not  very  far  from  the  barracks  ;  sometimes,  and 
only  in  case  of  necessity,  in  the  quieter  streets  ;  never  outside 
the  city,  where  they  certainly  would  have  been  provoked  and 
assaulted.  But  wherever  they  went,  whether  in  small  or 
greater  numbers,  they  were  always  regarded  with  suspicion. 
If  there  was  a  group  in  the  street,  those  whose  backs  were 


404  MILITARY  LIFE. 

toward  them  turned  quickly  around,  all  took  a  step  backward 
and  whispered  something  in  each  other's  ears.  "  Here  they 
are,"  some  one  would  say  aloud.  And  another  :  "  Take  care  ! " 
The  soldiers  passed,  and  the  group  formed  again.  Many,  on 
seeing  them  coming  in  the  distance  toward  them,  would  turn 
a  street  corner.  Others,  in  meeting  them,  stood  aside,  and 
then  stopped  to  look  at  them  when  they  had  passed  with  a 
curiosity  mixed  with  horror  and  fear.  In  the  quarters  of 
the  poor  people,  many  closed  their  doors  at  their  appear- 
ance, and  went  to  the  windows  ;  others  half-opened  the  blinds 
and  peeped  through  the  cracks  ;  the  women  called  in  a  loud 
voice  to  the  children  who  were  playing  in  the  middle  of 
the  street,  or  caught  them  by  the  arms  and  carried  them 
hastily  into  the  house  ;  the  children  rushed  here  and  there, 
turning  back  to  make  faces  ;  and  as  the  soldiers  went  on,  the 
doors  and  windows  were  reopened,  and  the  people  appeared, 
once  more  looking  suspicious,  interrogating  and  reassuring  each 
other  in  turns  by  signs.  Not  infrequently  the  soldiers  heard 
shouts  and  words  from  within  which  they  could  not  under- 
stand, but  which,  judging  by  angry  and  mocking  tones,  seemed 
undoubtedly  intended  for  them  ;  and  raising  their  eyes  to  the 
windows  they  saw  a  face  slowly  appear,  which,  however,  was 
withdrawn  as  soon  as  perceived,  or  perhaps  only  a  hand  put 
outside  the  sill  and  shaken  in  a  menacing  way.  At  other  times, 
in  passing,  they  heard  an  open  insult  or  a  curse  muttered  at 
their  backs,  or  some  incomprehensible  word  ;  they  turned  and 
saw  a  face  raised,  looking  at  the  clouds  in  an  abstracted  manner. 
To  call  them  to  account  for  any  insult  would  be  to  gather  the 
people  and  provoke  a  perfect  tumult,  so  they  kept  silence  and 
went  on.  Sometimes  instead  of  a  word,  they  whirled  a  stone 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  405 

at  their  ears  ;  if  they  turned  back  to  see  who  it  was,  questioning 
those  present  about  it,  no  one  had  heard  or  seen  any  thing. 

In  going  for  provisions,  the  regiment's  carts  were  only 
allowed  to  pass  through  certain  streets,  as  it  was  said  that 
they  contained  poisonous  materials  which  infected  the  air. 
In  order  to  carry  rations  to  those  on  guard,  the  soldiers 
were  obliged  to  make  a  detour  around  certain  quarters  ; 
evil  to  them  if  they  dared  pass  through  them  ;  the  mere  sight 
of  the  kettles  aroused  the  people's  suspicions  ;  in  less  than 
an  instant  a  crowd  gathered,  they  stopped  the  soldiers,  they 
wanted  to  see  what  they  were  carrying,  forced  the  carriers  to 
taste  the  broth  in  their  presence,  and  then  leave  a  portion  for 
them  to  try  and  analyze  afterward.  Any  indication,  no  matter 
how  slight  ;  any  assertion,  no  matter  how  absurd  ;  a  word,  a 
gesture  from  one  of  the  crowd,  was  sufficient  to  change  the 
doubt  into  a  certainty,  and  this  into  madness.  There  was  no 
time  nor  way  of  committing  a  crime,  because  the  fury  of 
the  common  people,  always  foreseen,  was  frustrated  by  a 
quick  and  ready  aid  ;  but  they  were  not  always  in  time  to 
prevent  violence,  nor  could  the  soldiers  be  cautious  enough 
to  succeed  in  avoiding,  or  help  provoking,  it  every  time. 
One  day,  in  a  by-street,  some  common  women  saw  a  soldier 
with  a  bundle  under  his  arm  hurry  into  a  house  where  a  short 
time  before  a  girl  had  been  seized  by  the  cholera.  They  be- 
gan to  wonder  among  themselves  why  that  soldier  had  entered 
the  door.  "  Did  you  see  what  he  had  under  his  arm  ?  Did 
you  observe  what  a  surly  face  he  had,  and  that  he  looked  around 
suspiciously  ? "  Every  one  had  noticed  something  strange 
and  ill-omened.  They  went  toward  the  house  and  stopped  in 
front  of  the  door.  It  was  closed ;  their  suspicions  increased. 


406  MILITARY  LIFE. 

They  knocked  ;  no  one  came  to  open.  They  called  aloud  to 
those  inside ;  no  one  replied.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt 
that  some  crime  was  being  committed  in  that  house.  They 
raised  a  loud  cry,  beat  furiously  at  the  door,  flung  stones  at 
the  windows  ;  in  less  than  a  moment  the  street  was  full  of 
people  armed  with  sticks,  and  hatchets,  and  knives  ;  the  door 
was  broken  in  and  the  crowd  rushed  into  the  house.  Suddenly 
a  window  is  opened,  a  man  in  shirt-sleeves  springs  on  to  the 
the  sill,  gives  a  shout,  jumps  down  into  the  street,  falls,  rises — 
"It  is  the  soldier  who  has  been  poisoning  !  " — shout  the  startled 
crowd  who  throng  around  him  ;  he  breaks  away  from  them, 
dashes  through  the  street,  and  disappears.  It  was  the  soldier 
who  had  entered  the  house  a  short  time  before  to  give  a  bun- 
dle of  linen  from  his  sergeant  to  the  laundress. 

A  few  days  after,  something  similar  happened  to  an  orderly, 
while  he  was  carrying  the  dinner  to  his  officer,  who  was  ill  at 
home.  In  one  hand  he  held  a  bottle  from  the  pharmacy,  in 
the  other  the  four  corners  of  a  napkin  with  the  dishes.  He 
was  crossing  an  alley  inhabited  by  the  poor.  Every  one 
watched  him  attentively  ;  some  one  followed  him  at  a  certain 
distance;  four  or  five  women  stopped  and  asked  him  boldly 
what  was  in  those  dishes.  He  was  unfortunate  enough  to  give 
them  an  impertinent  reply.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it 
the  dishes,  bottle,  and  napkin  were  under  the  feet  of  a  crowd 
of  people  who  had  appeared  as  if  by  magic  from  all  the  holes 
in  the  houses  round  about.  The  poor  soldier  hardly  had  time 
to  open  a  path  for  himself  with  his  bayonet,  and  was  thankful 
to  escape  with  only  a  scratch  on  his  face  and  a  stone  on  his 
back. 

Another  time,  three  soldiers  were  passing  before  a  group  of 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  407 

'houses  outside  the  city  ;  one  of  them  stopped  to  look  at  a  child 
who  was  digging  a  ditch  with  its  hands;  he  said:  "What  a 
beautiful  child  ! "  stooped  and  gave  it  a  caress.  A  woman  near 
by  saw  the  action,  dashed  to  the  door  of  one  of  the  houses, 
and  shouted  in  the  loudest  possible  voice  :  "  Quick  !  quick  ! 
the  soldiers  are  killing  the  child."  A  sharp  cry  was  heard 
from  within  at  the  same  moment,  and  a  woman  appeared 
at  the  door,  saw  the  soldiers,  rushed  forward,  and  caught  the 
child,  with  a  fearful  shriek,  in  her  arms,  returned  like  a  flash  to 
the  house,  closed  the  door,  dashed  to  the  window  breathless, 
trembling,  her  eyes  starting  out  of  their  sockets,  and  her  face 
pale  and  distorted  ;  she  stared  at  the  soldiers,  and  then,  ac- 
companying her  words  with  a  vigorous  gesture,  as  if  she  were 
throwing  a  stone,  shouted  in  a  stifled  voice  :  "  Curse  you  !  " 
and  withdrew.  The  soldiers  stood  still,  open-mouthed  with 
astonishment.  But  the  woman  who  had  given  the  first  cry 
had  run  to  call  some  other  people,  so  that  the  three  poor  fel- 
lows soon  had  to  think  of  saving  themselves,  as  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost.  They  had  nqt  gone  fifty  paces  when  the  armed 
forerunners  of  the  mob  appeared  in  front  of  the  mother's 
house. 

One  evening,  at  some  distance  from  any  habitation,  a  band 
of  peasants  who  were  on  the  look-out  for  poisoners,  came 
across  a  soldier.  Hardly  had  they  seen  him,  when  they  ran 
toward  him.  The  soldier,  stupidly,  turned  to  flee.  He 
was  caught  up  with,  seized  by  ten  hands,  dragged  behind 
a  lonely  house,  placed  with  his  back  against  the  wall,  and 
threatened  with  death.  "Where  do  you  keep  the  poison?" 
ten  voices  asked  in  one  breath.  "  I  have  no  poison,"  stammered 
the  soldier,  white  as  a  ghost.  "  Where  do  you  keep  the  poi- 


408  MILITARY  LIFE. 

son  ?  "  insisted  the  others  threateningly.  One  of  them  took  off 
his  fatigue  cap,  examined  it  and  threw  it  on  the  ground  ;  an- 
other pulled  off  his  cravat.  "  Out  with  the  poison  !  "  and  the 
one  who  had  seized  him  by  the  collar  knocked  his  head  against 
the  wall.  "  I  have  nothing,"  replied  the  weak  and  supplicating 
voice  of  the  soldier.  "  Oh,  you  have  n't  any  thing,  eh  ?  Now, 
we  will  see  for  ourselves  ! "  snarled  the  ferocious  creatures, 
and  opening  his  coat  and  shirt  they  searched  everywhere. 
"  Take  off  his  belt,"  said  one.  They  instantly  seized  his  belt, 
pulled  him  here  and  there  to  get  it  off,  but  they  did  not  succeed, 
and  they  shouted  and  cursed.  "  Oh  let  me  alone,"  implored 
the  poor  soldier  ;  "let  my  belt  alone."  They  loosened  it,  and 
threw  it  away,  and  forced  him  to  take  off  his  coat,  tormenting  and 
beating  him,  almost  sticking  the  points  of  their  knives  into 
him,  shouting  in  his  ears  every  kind  of  vituperation  and 
curse.  The  unfortunate  man,  who  had  barely  enough  strength 
left  to  stand,  let  them  do  whatsoever  they  chose  without  mak- 
ing further  resistance,  almost  out  of  his  senses,  with  his  head 
and  arms  hanging  like  those  of  a  dead  person  ;  he  murmured 
from  time  to  time  in  a  weak  voice  :  "  My  bayonet ;  I  am 
not  poisoning  any  one  ...  let  me  alone  .  .  .  give 
me  my  things,  my  bayonet !  "  They  certainly  would  have 
killed  him,  but  as  good  fortune  willed  it,  a  patrol  passed,  and 
dashing  precipitately  forward  they  dispersed  the  mob  just  as 
it  was  on  the  point  of  shedding  the  unlucky  fellow's  blood. 

This  was  one  of  the  least  painful  affairs  which  took  place, 
for  in  Catania  at  least  the  soldiers'  blood  was  not  spilled, 
which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  other  places.  What  must 
the  soldiers  have  felt  in  those  days  !  What  must  have  been 
their  thoughts  and  conversations,  in  seeing  themselves  so 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  409 

brutally  execrated  by  the  very  people  to  whom  they  were 
sacrificing  their  rest,  health,  and  life  ! 

But  for  them,  the  continual  risk  of  their  lives,  and  the  being 
obliged  to  defend  them  so  frequently  from  the  violence  of  an 
insensate  mob,  was  perhaps  a  less  painful  thought  and  a  less 
grave  care  than  the  duty  of  protecting  the  lives  of  other  citizens 
from  the  same  violence,  and  threatened  for  the  same  cause. 
Every  day  they  were  obliged  to  disarm  and  quell  a  mob 
blinded  with  fury  and  thirsting  for  blood,  and  to  drag 
from  its  hands  the  victims,  who  were  almost  always  beaten, 
covered  with  blood,  often  half  dead,  and  sometimes  already 
killed.  Sometimes  when  they  could  not  do  any  thing  else,  they 
were  forced  to  fight  for  the  posssession  of  the  bodies,  so  that 
they  should  not  be  mutilated  and  dragged  through  the  streets, 
or  given  a  prey  to  the  beasts  or  flames.  They  were  obliged  to 
dash  one  by  one  into  a  crowd  of  armed  people,  who,  pressing 
and  undulating  here  and  there,  separated  and  squeezed  them 
so  that  they  could  not  have  used  their  weapons  had  it  been 
necessary  to  do  so,  and  any  one  of  them  could  have  been 
stabbed  without  the  others  knowing  any  thing  about  it.  Yet 
they  were  obliged  to  trust  themselves  to  that  maddened  crowd, 
and  coax  and  beseech  them  to  be  quiet,  as  every  threat  would 
have  been  in  vain,  as  in  rousing  their  anger,  they  would 
have  been  likely  to  provoke  a  tumult,  and  cause  fresh  blood- 
shed, which,  unfortunately,  not  unfrequently  occurred.  Yet, 
despite  this,  many  lives  were  spared,  much  bloodshed  saved 
and  many  acts  of  brutality  prevented,  especially  in  those 
places  where  the  soldiers  were  not  suspected'of  poisoning,  or  in 
those  days  when  this  suspicion  no  longer  existed. 

One  example  will  suffice  for  all. 


410  MILITARY  LIFE. 

At  Bocca  di  Falco,  a  small  village  near  Palermo,  there  was 
the  cholera.  The  names  of  those  upon  whom  the  terrible 
suspicion  fell  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  the  people  waited 
for  the  opportunity  of  destroying  them.  Among  these  was 
a  poor  peddler,  who  passed  through  the  place  every  two  or 
three  days,  on  his  way  to  Palermo.  He  had  long  hair,  a  curi- 
ous way  of  dressing,  a  proud  face,  brusque  manners,  and  was 
a  man  of  few  words  ;  in  fact,  there  was  quite  enough  about 
him  to  make  people  believe  him  a  poisoner.  One  day  when 
the  cholera  had  been  raging  more  fiercely  than  usual  in  the 
place,  troops  of  beggars,  armed  with  picks  and  stipks,  went 
round  about  the  district,  indulging  in  threatening  shouts,  and 
firmly  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  all  the  poisoners.  One  of 
these  troops  met  the  peddler,  surrounded  him  before  he  was 
aware  of  it,  and  crowding  close  about  him,  asked  :  "  Well, 
how  many  have  you  disposed  of  to-day?"  The  unfortunate 
man  understood  their  meaning,  but  thinking  to  save  himself  by 
a  joke,  answered  :  "  Ten  !  "  without  smiling.  That  was  suf- 
ficient. One  of  the  crowd  gave  a  great  kick  to  the  box  of  pins 
and  cravats  which  he  carried  suspended  from  his  neck,  and 
sent  every  thing  into  the  air,  saying  as  he  did  so  :  "  This  will 
do  for  the  present.  Now  show  us  what  you  poison  people 
with."  "  I  ?  "  replied  the  former,  to  his  misfortune,  not  being 
able  to  restrain  a  gesture  of  indignation.  "  You  are  the  ones 
who  are  killing  me  !  "  "  Ah  !  we  are  the  ones  !  "  broke  from 
the  furious  crowd.  And  at  the  same  moment  a  vigorous  blow 
filled  his  mouth  with  blood,  one  hand  seized  him  by  the  throat, 
another  took  him  by  the  hair,  a  shower  of  blows  and  kicks  fell 
upon  his  unfortunate  person,  and  he  was  dashed  so  violently 
against  the  wall  that  the  nape  of  his  neck  left  a  bloody  imprint. 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  411 

"  Confess  your  accomplices,  assassin  !  "  shouted  the  foremost, 
digging  their  nails  into  his  cheeks  and  throat,  and  pressing 
their  knees  and  sticks  against  his  stomach.  "  Confess  !  "  And 
those  behind  stretched  out  their  hands  to  seize  him,  threw 
themselves  here  and  there,  in  order  to  make  an  opening  in  the 
crowd,  reach  him,  and  give  him  a  wound  also.  The  luckless 
man  was  dripping  with  blood  from  his  mouth  and  ears,  his 
eyes  seemed  starting  out  of  his  head,  a  rattling  sound  was 
heard  in  his  chest,  and  he  was  a  horrible  sight.  "  Confess  ! 
confess  !  "  Suddenly  a  loud  shout  came  from  the  other  side  of 
the  street  ;  it  was  another  poisoner  whom  another  band  of 
these  madmen  had  assaulted  and  beaten  ;  all  turned  in  that 
direction  ;  the  peddler,  being  free  for  a  moment,  threw  back 
with  one  vigorous  push  the  two  who  stood  at  his  side,  dashed 
into  an  open  door,  and  closed  it  behind  him.  The  crowd,  per- 
ceiving this,  sprang  toward  the  door,  and  began  beating  it 
furiously  with  stones  and  picks.  The  peddler  had  taken 
refuge  in  a  small  room  on  the  ground-floor,  where  there  was  a 
woman  who  had  witnessed  the  whole  scene  from  a  window. 
At  the  appearance  of  the  poisoner  she  thought  she  was 
doomed  ;  courage  and  the  frenzy  of  despair  took  possession  of 
her,  she  dashed  at  him  like  a  fury;  seized  him  by  the  neck, 
and  began  a  terrible  battle  with  teeth  and  nails.  Both  fall- 
ing, they  rolled  like  wild  beasts  on  the  floor,  holding'tightly  to 
each  other,  one  on  top  of  the  other  as  the  case  might  be,  their 
breath  and  blood  mingling;  the  crowd  stretched  out  their 
arms  through  the  window  gratings,  extended  their  trembling 
hands  to  seize  their  victim,  shouting  horrid  words  as  they  did 
so.  The  door  began  to  creak  and  give  way,  when,  just  at 
that  point,  a  number  of  voices  shouted  :  "  The  soldiers  !  the 


412  MILITARY  LIFE. 

soldiers  !  "  A  moment  later  the  poor  peddler  he"ard  the  ap- 
proach of  hastening  steps,  saw  the  gleam  of  bayonets  outside 
the  windows,  caught  the  sound  of  a  powerful  voice  above  the 
tumult  which  said  :  "  Bread  for  all !  "  and  instantly  thereafter 
the  blows  on  the  door  ceased,  the  arms  of  his  assaulters  retired 
from  the  grating,  and  the  raging  shouts  of  the  crowd  were  fol- 
lowed by  a  low  murmur.  The  woman  lay  exhausted  on  the 
ground,  and  he  was  saved.  The  commander  of  the  detach- 
ment had  been  informed  in  time  of  what  was  taking  place,  had 
gathered  his  soldiers  in  an  instant,  made  each  one  take  his 
portion  of  bread,  and  had  thus  come  to  quell  the  rio{  with  the 
double  weapons  of  menace  and  charity.  Not  one  of  the  sol- 
diers was  suspected  in  the  place,  in  fact  they  were  always 
looked  upon  kindly,  and  perhaps  even  loved  for  their  alms- 
giving and  help,  which  they  bestowed  so  generously  in  every 
way,  so  that  at  their  appearance  the  mob  desisted  from  vio- 
lence, and,  little  by  little,  became  perfectly  quiet.  Part  of  the 
soldiers  entered  the  house  and  stood  guard  there  ;  the  others 
remained  to  watch  those  poor  famished  creatures  who  devoured 
their  bread  in  silence.  How  many  of  these  occurrences  took 
place,  and  how  often  they  were  repeated  in  the  same  places  ! 

Yet  the  hardest  labor  and  the  most  repulsive  duty  which  fell 
to  the  lot  of  the  soldiers  was  that  of  burying  the  dead,  for 
which  they  were  obliged  to  arm  themselves  with  all  the  strength 
and  courage  possible.  Sometimes  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
a  messenger  from  the  municipality  would  arrive  at  the  barracks 
to  say  that  some  bodies  had  just  been  discovered  in  such  and 
such  a  house,  that  no  one  would  bury  them,  and  that  some 
steps  must  be  taken  in  the  matter  instantly,  before  putrefaction 
rendered  burial  out  of  the  question.  A  loud  beating  of  the 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  413 

drum  waked  the  whole  corps  in  a  moment,  and  a  band  of  sol- 
diers was  gathered.  They  lighted  their  lanterns,  drew  out  their 
carts,  took  picks  and  spades,  the  officer  of  the  guard  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  escort,  and  they  started.  They 
arrived  in  silence  at  the  place  indicated,  the  streets  empty  and 
the  houses  closed  and  abandoned.  After  much  difficulty  they 
broke  down  the  doors  and  an  unendurable  odor  of  decay  re- 
pelled the  soldiers.  "  Courage  !  "  One  goes  forward  with  a  lan- 
tern; the  others  follow  slowly  with  their  hands  over  their  mouths, 
casting  their  eyes  timidly  around  the  sepulchral  chamber. 
Stretched  out  on  the  ground  on  sacks  of  straw  or  rags,  nude 
or  illy  wrapped,  in  horrible  filth,  lay  the  bodies,  side  by  side,  or 
one  on  top  of  the  other,  carelessly  thrown  together  :  the  faces 
swollen,  specked  with  black ;  the  mouth  discolored  by  blood- 
stained saliva ;  the  bodies  swollen,  covered  with  large  venous 
spots  and  a  net-work  of  green  stripes  from  the  intestines 
and  veins ;  all  the  members  resting  on  the  ground,  quite 
crushed  ;  every  semblance  of  humanity  distorted  or  lost  ;  and 
here  and  there,  in  those  portions  which  were  most  decayed,  the 
first  manifestations  of  animal  life.  Yet  they  were  obliged  to 
approach  those  horrible  couches,  and  seize  and  separate  the 
different  members,  raise  those  bodies  one  by  one,  and 
carry  them  to  the  carts  •  seeing  them  change  and  decom- 
pose more  horribly  at  every  step,  and  drop  here  arid  there  a 
fetid  rag,  or  some  other  more  filthy  trace  of  itself.  Oh,  it  was 
quite  another  thing  from  seeing  the  dead  on  the  battle-field 
stretched  out  in  a  pool  of  blood,  torn  by  shot,  or  lacerated  and 
mutilated  by  the  cannon-balls  !  Then,  the  shouts  of  a  thou- 
sand comrades  resound  about  us,  we  see  battalions,  gleaming 
with  bayonets,  moving  here  and  there  through  the  fields  and  on 


414  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  hillside  ;  the  flag  of  the  regiment  waving  near  by ;  hear 
the  distant  noise  of  the  batteries  which  are  hastening  forward  ; 
our  blood  boils,  our  souls  are  exalted,  and  the  bodies  we  meet 
on  the  road  do  not  count,  indeed  are  not  seen  or  looked  at,  we 
do  not  even  think  that  there  must  be  some,  or  if  the  eye  falls 
upon  them,  our  hearts  exclaim  :  "  Farewell,  brother !  "  and 
nothing  else,  as  on  we  go  and  forget  them.  But  there,  in  those 
dwellings,  at  night,  in  the  midst  of  that  silence,  in  that  quiet, 
by  the  light  of  those  lanterns,  how  horrible  the  image  of  death 
must  be  !  How  many  of  those  soldiers,  even  the  strongest  of 
them,  must  have  had  the  image  of  these  misshapen  bodies  before 
him  for  some  time,  have  felt  the  contact  of  those  icy  and  flaccid 
members,  and  the  noise  of  those  heads  as  they  fell  heavily  on  to 
the  cart !  Often  some  one  started  back  horrified  at  the  sight 
of  the  dead,  or  his  arms  trembled  and  his  eyes  became  veiled 
in  the  act  of  touching  them.  "  Oh,  friend,"  he  may  have  said 
to  his  neighbor,  "  I  cannot  do  it  !  "  But  the  voice  of  the  ever- 
ready  officer  would  be  heard  :  "  Courage,  boys  !  every  thing  de- 
pends upon  taking  hold  of  the  first.  We  must  become  ac- 
customed to  it."  Then  the  soldier  put  his  hand  timidly  on 
the  body,  turning  away  his  head  and  holding  his  breath  as 
he  did  so.  The  band  moved  toward  the  cemetery.  On 
reaching  it  the  soldiers  placed  their  lanterns  on  the  ground 
and  part  of  them  dug  the  graves,  while  the  others  stood 
beside  the  carts,  waiting  for  a  sign  to  bury  the  dead.  The 
officer  stood  motionless  at  the  edge  of  a  grave,  superintend- 
ing the  soldiers'  work.  All  were  silent.  Nothing  was  to  be 
heard  but  the  stroke  of  the  picks  as  they  were  struck  into 
the  ground,  and  the  falling  of  the  earth  thrown  into  the  air 
by  the  shovels.  From  time  to  time  came  a  voice  :  "  Cour- 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  41$ 

age,  boys  !  "  Then  they  dragged  the  bodies  down  from  the 
carts,  a  soldier  held  the  light  so  that  the  others  could  see 
•where  to  put  their  hands,  another  stood  up  in  the  cart  to 
help  those  who  were  lifting  the  bodies  one  by  one  from  the 
heap,  and  said  :  "  Take  this  one.  That  one.  Be  careful 
of  this  one,  because  it  is  decayed  .  ,  ."  Ten  steps  fur- 
ther away  nought  but  the  slightest  whisper  was  to  be  heard, 
and  now  and  then  a  louder  voice  :  *'  Courage  !  "  or :  "  Look 
out  for  your  hands !  "  All  about  was  darkness  and  silence. 

K  But  why  do  we  have  to  bury  the  dead  ?  "  asked  a  soldier 
once  in  reenteriag  the  barrack.  "  Oh  !  that  's  a  fine  question," 
replied  a  corporal  in  a  tone  of  profound  conviction  ;  "  because 
others  will  not  do  it.'*  There  was  no  objection  to  be  made  to 
such  a  reason,  and  so  all  were  silent. 

What  has  been  told  up  to  the  present  time  is  but  little  in 
comparison  to  that  which  remains  to  be  said.  How  many  sadder 
and  more  terrible  cases  followed,  and  how  far  I  should  still  be 
from  the  end  of  my  narrative  were  I  to  attempt  to  tell  the  half 
I  know,  and  yet  I  know  only  so  small  a  portion  of  them  ! 

At  Sutera,  a  small  place  in  the  province  of  Caltanisetta, 
there  was  a  squad  of  the  54th  regiment  of  infantry  com- 
manded by  Sub-lieutenant  Edoardo  Cangiano.  On  the  morning 
of  the  azd  of  June  a  peasant  arrives  at  the  barrack  in  a 
breathless  condition,  and  presents  himself  before  the  officer. 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Officer  I "  he  exclaims  in  a  supplicating  voice,  <c  come, 
for  pity's  sake,  and  help  us.  ...  The  cholera  has  broken 
out  near  here,  at  Campofranco  ;  half  the  people  have  fled  ; 
the  streets  are  filled  with  the  dead :  there  are  no  physicians, 
nor  undertakers  ;  there  is  not  even  any  thing  to  eat.  .  .  . 
it  's  a  perfect  desolation  ;  those  who  do  not  die  of  cholera  will 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

die  of  hunger.  .  .  .  Oh,  come — come  immediately  ! " 
The  squad  was  instantly  armed,  a  message  sent  to  the  syndic, 
a  despatch  to  the  military  command  at  Caltanisetta,  a  notice  to 
the  sergeant  to  stop  there  with  a  few  soldiers,  and  away  the 
rest  go  toward  Campofranco.  They  had  to  walk  a  mile  or 
more  through  a  winding  path  across  the  fields.  The  sun  was 
shining  brightly.  The  soldiers,  dripping  with  perspiration,  be- 
fore leaving  the  town,  proceeded  one  behind  the  other  in  a 
long  file,  half  walking,  half  running,  listening  attentively  to 
the  peasant,  who,  in  broken  words,  described  to  Cangiano  the 
sad  state  of  the  place.  "  Courage  !  courage  !  "  the  latter  replied 
from  time  to  time  ;  "nothing  is  done  by  complaining  ;  this  is  a 
time  for  deeds."  He  kept  quickening  his  pace,  and  the  sol- 
diers with  him,  until  they  ended  by  actually  running.  At  a  cer- 
tain point  they  began  to  see  in  the  distance  men,  women,  and 
children  wandering  uncertainly  through  the  fields,  pointing  the 
soldiers  out  to  each  other,  stopping,  fleeing,  running  backward 
and  forward,  calling  loudly  to  each  other,  gathering  and  dis- 
persing, like  people  who  were  being  pursued  and  quite  out  of 
their  senses  from  fear.  As  the  soldiers  approached  the  village 
the  fugitives  became  more  numerous,  the  agitation  and  shout- 
ing increased  ;  entire  families  roamed  about  the  country  car- 
rying or  dragging  behind  them  all  their  worldly  possessions ; 
some  had  put  their  things  on  the  ground  in  order  to  rest ;  at 
the  sight  of  the  soldiers  they  took  them  hastily  up  and  moved 
off,  turning  timidly  back  as  they  did  so.  Others  fell  down, 
quite  worn  out ;  others  rose  ;  many  farther  away,  turning  toward 
the  soldiers,  shouted  and  waved  their  arms  cursing.  "  Ah  ! 
Mr.  Officer  !  "  exclaimed  the  peasant,  "this  is  nothing  !  "  "  No 
matter,"  replied  Cangiano ;  "  we  are  prepared  for  every 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  417 

thing,"  The  first  house  and  the  beginning  of  the  first  street 
appeared  in  sight.  The  people,  who  were  fleeing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  soldiers,  turned  in  part  at  the  sight  of  them  and 
ran  back  to  the  town,  shouting  as  if  they  were  announcing  an 
assault  of  the  enemy  ;  the  rest  dashed  right  and  left  into  the 
fields.  On  first  entering  the  street  they  saw  two  bodies 
stretched  on  the  ground  before  the  door  of  an  uninhabited 
house.  Hardly  had  they  entered,  when  there  was  a  speedy 
disappearance  of  the  people  in  the  houses,  a  hasty  closing  of 
doors  and  windows,  the  sharp  cries  of  women,  the  weeping  of 
children,  and  at  the  end  of  the  street  a  rapid  gathering  and 
noisy  mingling  of  people,  then  a  general  flight.  "  Quick  !  " 
shouted  Cangiano  ;  "  ten  soldiers  go  around  the  place  and 
stop  these  people."  Ten  soldiers  detached  themselves  from 
the  squad  and  ran  through  a  side  street.  The  others  went  on. 
The  frightened  people  continued  to  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
houses. 

"  We  do  not  wish  to  harm  any  one  !  "  shouted  Cangiano,  in 
a  loud  voice.  "  We  have  come  to  help  you  ;  we  are  your 
friends  ;  come  out,  good  people  ;  come  out  of  your  houses  !  " 

A  few  doors  and  windows  began  to  open  ;  a  few  people  be- 
hind the  soldiers  began  to  appear  ;  in  the  houses  they  heard 
the  weak  voices  of  complaint  ;  in  the  street,  in  front  of  the 
doors,  lay  many  unfortunate  creatures  weak  and  exhausted 
from  hunger,  or  seized  by  the  epidemic,  motionless  and  torpid 
as  if  dead.  Here  and  there  were  household  goods  abandoned 
in  the  door-ways,  or  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  at  every 
step,  scattered  straw  and  heaps  of  rags.  In  every  side  alley 
which  lead  to  the  fields  were  one  or  more  bodies,  some  cov- 
ered with  straw,  some  with  earth,  some  with  a  few  rags,  among 


41 8  MILITARY  LIFE. 

which  appeared  the  blackened  and  swollen  members  ;  others 
thrown  across  the  door-sills,  half  in  and  half  out  of  the 
houses. 

"  Look,  Mr.  Officer  !  "  exclaimed  the  peasant,  sadly. 

"  We  will  provide  for  all,"  replied  Cangiano  ;  "  keep  up  your 
courage  ! " 

At  that  point,  the  crowd  of  fugitives,  who  had  been  driven 
back  by  those  ten  soldiers,  came  tumultuously  toward  the  offi- 
cer. "  Draw  up  in  line  !  "  he  shouted,  turning  to  the  soldiers  ; 
and  they  stopped  and  drew  up  across  the  street.  Cangiano 
waited  quietly  and  firmly  for  the  crowd.  The  latter  stopped 
within  ten  paces,  ceased  shouting,  and  stood  looking  angrily  at 
the  soldiers.  They  were  all  poor,  ragged  people,  with  pale 
and  thin  faces,  staring  eyes,  physiognomies  to  which  their  long 
sufferings  had  given  an  expression  of  deadly  weariness  and  sav- 
age pride.  "  We  wish  to  go  away  !  "  shouted  a  voice  from  the 
crowd.  All  repeated  the  cry,  and  the  crowd  swayed  backward 
and  forward.  "  Why  do  you  wish  to  go  ?  "  asked  Cangiano  in 
a  resolute  voice  which  was  tempered  with  sweetness.  "  You 
must  remain  where  you  are  and  help  each  other.  All  must 
help  in  a  general  misfortune.  It  is  a  bad  thing  for  each  to 
think  of  himself  and  not  for  all  ...  We  have  come  to 
help  you."  "  We  wish  to  go  away  !  "  shouted  the  crowd, 
threateningly  ;  and  those  at  the  back  pressing  hard,  the  fore- 
most were  thrown  two  or  three  steps  forward.  "  Stand  back  !  " 
said  Cangiano  calmly,  then  added  in  a  loud  voice  :  "  Listen  to 
my  advice  :  the  women  and  children  shall  go  into  the  houses  ; 
the  men  remain  to  help  the  soldiers  bury  the  dead."  "  We  do 
not  wish  to  die  ! "  replied  the  multitude  imperiously,  and 
shouting  louder  still,  they  moved  and  swayed  again  as  if  to 


THE  CHOLERA   OF  1867.  4T9 

make  a  dash  at  the  soldiers.  "  You  wish  it  ?  well  then," 
shouted  the  officer  ;  and  turning  back  he  shouted  :  "  Ready  I  " 
The  squad  raised  and  aimed  their  muskets,  and  the  crowd, 
uttering  a  cry  of  fright,  disappeared  in  an  instant  by  the  side 
streets.  The  other  ten  soldiers  joined  the  first. 

"  Here,  firmness  and  courage  are  needed  !  "  exclaimed  Can- 1 
giano  ;  "  the  dead  must  be  buried  immediately  ;  half  of  you 
go  into  the  country  and  bring  back,  by  force,  as  many  men  as 
you  can.  You  others  come  with  me."  Half  of  the  squad 
started  on  a  quick  step  out  of  the  town.  The  others  began  to 
run  here  and  there,  to  enter  the  houses,  and  hunt  all  around  for 
picks,  shovels,  carts,  boards,  and  benches  on  which  to  carry  the 
dead  out  of  the  place.  In  a  few  moments  they  found  every 
thing  they  needed,  and  part  of  them  began  to  gather  the  bodies  ; 
when  they  reached  the  neighboring  cemetery  they  dug  the 
graves  as  hastily  as  possible  ;  others  went  to  work  to  clear  the 
streets  of  the  worst  obstructions  and  disgusting  filth. 

Meanwhile  Cangiano,  followed  by  a  soldier,  went  in  search 
of  a  house  adapted  for  the  use  of  a  hospital,  stopping  all  the 
people  whom  he  met  on  the  way,  advising,  exhorting,  and  be- 
seeching them  to  do  as  he  wished  ;  and  in  passing  he  hurried 
the  soldiers,  gave  orders  and  suggestions,  and  comforted  them 
with  kind  words.  He  found  a  house,  had  it  cleared,  had  beds 
from  the  deserted  houses  carried  there,  went  himself  with  four 
soldiers  to  knock  at  the  doors  of  all  the  other  dwellings,  and 
asked  to  be  allowed  to  carry  away  the  sick,  whom  he  would 
nurse  and  take  care  of,  saying  that  their  families  should  be  as- 
sisted. They  replied  in  the  negative  ;  he  offered  them  money, 
begged,  threatened ;  all  was  in  vain.  Then  the  soldiers  en- 
tered the  houses  by  force ;  two  of  them  seized*  the  invalid,  and 


420  MILITARY  LIFE. 

two  others  kept  back  with  their  arms  the  relatives  and  neigh- 
bors. Very  often  they  were  obliged  to  lift  away  the  women 
from  the  doorways  where  they  blocked  up  the  entrance  with 
their  own  bodies  ;  had  to  struggle  with,  repulse  them  forcibly, 
and  finally  drag  them  off. 

After  much  labor,  a  large  number  of  the  sick  were  already 
lodged  in  the  new  hospital,  and  two  or  three  of  the  soldiers  had 
provided  for  their  needs  while  waiting  the  arrival  of  assistance 
from  Caltanisetta,  when  the  other  half  of  the  squad  returned 
to  the  town  dragging  by  force  a  band  of  peasants  whom  they 
had   arrested  in  the   country.     Cangiano   ran   to  meet  them, 
divided  them  into  various  groups,  and  had  them  led  to  their 
different  works.     The   newly  arrived   soldiers  began  to  work 
too  ;  in  a  short  time  the  bodies  which  were  in  the  streets  had 
been  buried,  the  streets  cleared  and  cleaned ;  they  began  to 
go  in  turn  to  fetch  the  sick,  and  little  by  little,  now  by  persua- 
sion, now  by  force,  they  succeeded  in  getting  the  greater  part 
into  the  hospital.     On  every  side  there  was  a  continual  coming 
and  going,  a  calling  to  one  another,  and  a  continuous  hurry 
of  soldiers.      The  people,  who  began  to  gather,  stood  look- 
ing at  them  from  a  distance,  half  suspiciously,  half  amazed ; 
those  scattered  throughout  the  country  came  gradually  nearer 
the  town  to  see  what  was  going  on.      The  first  arrivals,  no 
longer  seeing  the  bodies  before  the  houses,  took  courage  and 
entered  ;  many  began  spontaneously  to  clear  the  streets  of  the 
remaining  filth  ;    others  entered   the   houses  ;  some  crowded 
around  Cangiano,  watching  him  with  astonishment,  not  utter- 
ing a  word,  still  a  trifle  diffident,  but  quite  prepared  to  tender 
thanks  for  what  had  been  done  and  to  pray  also.      Cangiano, 
though  never  ceasing  to  run  here  and  there  in  order  to  encour- 


THE   CHOLERA   OF  1867.  421 

age  the  soldiers,  turned  from  time  to  time  to  the  people  who 
were  following  them,  and  said  :  "Come  now,  go  and  help  those 
poor  fellows  who  have  been  working  so  long  for  you  ;  go  and 
call  those  who  have  fled  into  the  country  ;  we  can  all  do  some- 
thing ;  let  us  get  the  town  in  order ;  the  syndic  will  return  ; 
the  gentlemen  will  come  back  and  help  you  ;  so  will  the  bakers 
and  physicians  ;  help  will  soon  arrive  from  Caltanisetta.  Cour- 
age !  come  now,  let  us  all  work  ;  there  is  a  remedy  for  every 
trouble,  and  we  will  remedy  even  this.  We  came  here  for 
your  good,  rest  assured  of  that,  my  good  people  ;  what  have 
you  to  fear  from  the  soldiers  ?  Don't  we  all  belong  to  the 
same  country  ;  are  we. not  all  your  brothers  and  defenders  ?" 
These  words  were  followed  by  a  murmur  of  approbation  in  the 
crowd  ;  some  instantly  detached  themselves  therefrom  and  ran 
to  the  assistance  of  the  soldiers  ;  others  went  toward  the  coun- 
try ;  many  scattered  through  the  streets  ;  the  remainder  gath- 
ered around  the  officer  with  laments  and  supplications  :  "  We 
are  without  bread.  We  are  hungry."  "  I  know  it,  my  good 
people  ;  have  a  little  patience  and  the  bread  will  come  ;  I 
will  do  all  that  I  can  for  you  ;  I  will  send  my  soldiers  to  get 
something  to  eat  at  Sutera  ;  we  will  give  you  all  that  we  have. 
But  meanwhile  you  must  work,  carry  away  the  dead,  nurse  the 
sick,  and  help  each  other."  Then  the  people  thanked  him, 
began  to  beg  again,  complain,  and  ask  for  bread. 

Suddenly  a  soldier  ran  up  and  whispered  in  Cangiano's  ear. 
A  difficult  test  of  their  charity  and  strength  was  now  to  be 
given  !  Cangiano  saw,  very  wisely,  that  every  thing  must  be 
done  secretly,  so  ordered  those  present  to  go  and  wait  for  the 
expected  succor  on  the  road  leading  to  Caltanisetta,  called 
fifteen  soldiers  with  their  muskets,  made  twenty  peasants  with 


422  MILITARY  LIFE. 

pistols  step  forward,  and  went  off  with  them  to  one  end  of  the 
village,  where  there  was  a  little  church  which  had  been  aban- 
doned. They  stopped  at  the  door,  tried  it,  and  found  it  closed. 
They  pulled  it  down,  and  all  started  back  together  with  a  cry 
of  horror.  In  the  middle  of  the  church,  which  was  only  a  trifle 
larger  than  an  ordinary  room,  was  a  heap  of  twenty  decayed 
bodies.  "  Forward  !  "  shouted  the  officer.  The  soldiers  dashed 
into  the  church,  but  the  peasants  started  back.  "  Forward  ! " 
shouted  Cangiano  again.  No  one  moved.  He  stepped  for- 
ward, they  took  to  flight,  the  soldiers  sprang  after  them,  and 
in  a  moment  had  reached  and  seized  them.  "  Drag  those 
cowards  here ! "  shouted  Cangiano  from  the  church  door. 
The  soldiers  dragged  them  by  the  arms  with  the  utmost 
difficulty,  pushing  them  by  blows,  and  threatening  them 
with  their  muskets.  But  as  they  were  about  to  enter  they 
began  a  more  obstinate  resistance,  planting  their  feet  firm- 
ly on  the  ground  just  as  restive  horses  do,  struggling  and 
shouting  desperately,  almost  as  if  they  were  being  dragged  to 
torture.  "  Out  with  your  bayonets  !  "  shouted  the  officer, 
scornfully,  as  he  seized  one  by  the  waist  and  flung  him  into 
the  church  ;  the  soldiers  set  their  bayonets  and  raised  them  as 
if  to  charge.  "  Forward,  you  cowards,  or  we  will  stick  them 
into  you  !  "  "You  want  to  kill  us  !  "  the  peasants  cried.  "We 
will  all  die  !  "  replied  the  soldiers  proudly,  "  but  you  must 
enter  !  "  With  a  final  effort,  they  pushed  them  all  in.  Here 
a  terrible  piece  of  work  began.  The  bodies  were  in  a  complete 
state  of  decomposition  and  were  a  shapeless  mass,  so  that  they 
could  not  even  be  lifted  from  the  ground.  The  men  were 
obliged  to  break  up  the  benches  of  the  church,  place  two 
boards  under  each  body,  and  seizing  them  by  the  ends,  raise 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  423 

the  putrid  weight  with  their  arms  outstretched,  and  their  faces 
turned  away,  as  the  appearance  of  those  bodies  was  something 
too  terrible.  At  every  jar  they  received,  a  green  matter  ran 
from  the  mouth  and  ears  and  spread  over  the  faces,  and  the 
black  skin  of  the  dangling  arms  and  legs  seemed  ready  to 
detach  itself  from  the  bones  and  dissolve  entirely.  Cangiano 
sent  four  soldiers  to  gather  wood  from  the  few  deserted  houses 
near  by.  The  latter,  not  rinding  any  thing  else,  took  tables, 
chairs,  blinds,  any  thing  that  would  burn,  and  piled  every 
thing  up  in  the  middle  of  a  field,  a  short  distance  from  the 
church.  The  bodies  were  carried  out  one  by  one,  and  thrown 
on  to  the  heap  ;  fire  was  set  to  it,  and  all  were  burned.  There 
was  not  one  body  left  in  all  Campofranco.  Between  those 
buried  and  burned  they  had  disposed  of  more  than  sixty. 

When  Cangiano  saw  the  first  flames  starting,  he  returned 
to  the  town,  where  he  continued,  in  an  indefatigable  man- 
ner, the  good  work  he  had  begun,  until  a  captain  arrived 
from  Caltanisetta,  with  a  good  supply  of  food,  medicine,  and 
money,  and  with  these  he  went  from  house  to  house,  through 
all  Campofranco,  helping  the  poor  and  sick,  reassuring  those 
who  were  frightened,  and  filling  all  hearts  with  hope  and  peace. 
In  a  short  time  all  the  fugitives  re'turned,  the  municipality  was 
reorganized,  every  one  resumed  his  former  occupation,  the 
town  changed  its  aspect,  and  Cangiano  and  his  soldiers  re- 
turned to  Sutera,  accompanied  by  the  benedictions  of  all.  In 
Sutera,  too,  the  epidemic  was  raging,  and  there  also  Cangiano 
performed  miracles  in  the  way  of  charity  and  courage.  On 
the  eleventh  of  August,  the  municipal  body  of  the  city  unani- 
mously acclaimed  him  the  benefactor  of  the  place,  and  ex- 
pressed the  gratitude  of  the  citizens  in  a  letter  full  of  enthusi- 


424  MILITARY  LIFE. 

asm  and  affection.  May  these  poor  pages  have  the  power  of 
making  his  name  beloved  and  revered  in  the  hearts  of  many, 
as  it  is  in  mine  ! 

Let  us  recall  some  other  facts  and  names.  The  sub-lieuten- 
ant, Livio  Vivaldi,  commanded  a  detachment  of  the  54th  regi- 
ment at  Palazzo  Adriano.  The  cholera  spread  there.  The 
syndic,  physicians,  chemists,  and  priests  all  fled  ;  no  one  but 
the  poor  remained.  Vivaldi  kept  every  thing  in  order,  and 
provided  for  all.  During  the  day,  he  visited  the  sick,  hastened 
the  burials,  had  the  place  cleaned  and  disinfected,  and  at 
night  gave  chase  to  the  highwaymen  who  were  scourging  the 
country.  Once,  on  the  evening  of  the  tenth  of  July,  while  he 
was  distributing  bread  in  the  houses  of  the  poor,  he  was  in- 
formed that  a  band  of  malefactors  had  gathered  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  place.  He  ran  to  the  barracks,  took  ten  sol- 
diers with  him,  went  out  into  the  country,  surprised  the  band, 
attacked  it,  was  wounded,  continued  to  fight,  put  it  to  flight, 
killed  the  head  of  it,  arrested  the  others,  returned  to  the  town, 
and  the  following  morning  took  up  again  his  office  of  physician 
and  almoner.  And  this  was  one  instance  among  many. 

At  Gangi,  in  the  province  of  Termini,  the  cholera  broke  out 
toward  the  middle  of  June.  Half  the  population  fled.  Those 
who  remained  hid  the  dead,  and  shut  themselves  up  in  their 
houses  for  fear  of  being  poisoned.  During  the  night  of  the 
26th  the  boldest  armed  themselves  and  began  rushing  about 
the  country,  firing  blindly  into  the  windows  and  doors,  and 
against  any  whom  they  happened  to  meet.  The  sharp-shooters 
from  Petralia  Sottana  gathered,  and  gave  chase  throughout 
the  night  to  the  rioters,  dispersed  them  with  great  diffi- 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  425 

cully,  and  when  the  riot  was  quelled,  entered  the  houses 
by  force,  found  thirteen  unburied  bodies,  interred  them 
with  their  own  hands,  though  their  lives  were  threatened  by 
the  infuriated  multitude. 

The  cholera  had  broken  out  at  Menfi.  The  people  were 
without  physicians,  medicine,  money,  or  bread.  Twenty-four 
bodies  lay  unburied  for  forty-eight  hours.  A  rebellion  was  im- 
minent. General  Medici  was  informed  of  the  state  of  affairs 
by  telegraph.  The  detachment  of  Sciacca  received  instant  or- 
ders to  proceed  to  Menfi.  Twenty-four  hours  afterward,  the 
general  received  the  following  despatch  :  "  The  detachment 
arrived.  Buried  the  dead.  Order  restored.  Medicines  and 
provisions  distributed.  The  communal  administration  provided 
for." 

At  Grammichele,  two  deaths  having  taken  place  from  cholera, 
the  populace,  suspecting  poison,  armed  themselves,  attacked 
the  carabineers,  killed  one  of  them,  wounded  another  mortally, 
so  that  the  rest  were  forced  to  shut  themselves  up  in  the  bar- 
racks, where  they  were  besieged  all  night,  an  attempt  being 
made  at  every  moment  to  break  down  the  doors  and  rush  in 
and  kill  them.  Forty  soldiers  of  the  pth  regiment  of  infantry, 
commanded  by  Sub-lieutenant  Goi,  came  from  Caltagirone.  At 
their  appearance  the  armed  bands  dispersed  ;  but,  becoming 
aware  of  the  small  number  of  soldiers,  they  gathered  again, 
moved  against  them,  insulted  and  threatened  them,  shouting 
that  they  wished  to  search  their  knapsacks,  and  take  possession 
of  the  poison  therein.  The  number  of  rioters  was  ten  times 
greater  than  that  of  the  soldiers  ;  a  massacre  was  imminent ; 
reinforcements  were  demanded  from  Caltagirone  ;  fresh  sol- 
diers arrived  in  great  haste  ;  and  all  together,  after  a  long 


426  MILITARY  LIFE. 

struggle,  succeeded  in  getting  together  fifteen  of  the  national 
guards,  with  whom  they  scoured  the  country  and  town  all 
night  long,  though  threatened  and  assaulted  at  every  moment. 
Finally,  they  succeed  in  establishing  quiet.  The  rioters  had 
attached  to  one  house  in  the  place  a  proclamation  which  ran 
thus  -.  "  Courage  !  Up  ;  courage,  companions  !  Do  not  desist 
from  what  you  propose  doing  ;  do  not  be  cowards,  but  vindi- 
cators of  the  country's  honor.  Are  you  afraid  of  a  handful  of 
soldiers  ?  Get  rid  of  them  and  put  them  to  flight.  Down  with 
the  vile  and  opprobrious  bands  of  the  government  •  break  the 
murderous  pots  of  poison  which  your  superiors,  infamous  ex- 
ecutors of  the  royal  decrees,  kindly  place  at  your  lips  !  "  This 

4 

is  an  exact  quotation. 

At  Longobucco,  a  province  of  Rossano,  a  certain  Guiseppe 
Citini  died  of  cholera  toward  the  end  of  July.  The  common 
people  believed  that  he  had  died  of  poison ;  they  broke,  armed, 
into  the  syndic's  house  ;  invaded  Citini's  house  and  sacked  it ; 
robbed  the  house  of  the  chemist,  Felicetti,  and  destroyed  the 
pharmacy  ;  rang  the  bells  violently,  ran  furiously  through  the 
streets  during  the  whole  night,  shouting  that  they  wished  to 
put  to  death  all  property-owners  and  public  officers.  The 
following  morning  they  tried  to  break  into  the  sharp-shooters' 
barracks,  and  hunted  again  for  the  syndic  in  order  to  kill  him. 
And  this  they  would  have  done,  if  the  marshal  of  the  cara- 
bineers, the  quartermaster-sergeant,  Allisio,  and  the  sergeant, 
Cenderini,  of  the  sharp-shooters,  had  not  courageously  dashed 
into  the  middle  of  the  crowd  and  succeeded  in  dissuading  them 
from  their  iniquitous  design?  and  prevented  the  burning  of 
various  houses  and  the  murder  of  many  citizens.  They  main- 
tained a  little  quiet  in  the  place  until  the  following  morning, 


THE  CHOLERA   OF  1867.  427 

when  a  company  of  the  45th  battalion  of  sharp-shooters,  com- 
manded by  Captain  Ippolito  Viola,  arrived,  and  dispersed  the 
crowd,  which  had  begun  to  grow  riotous.  But  the  most  furious 
instantly  shut  themselves  up  in  the  houses,  and  fired  upon  the 
sharp-shooters,  two  of  whom  fell  wounded,  and  the  marshal  was 
nearly  killed.  Then  the  sharp-shooters,  enraged  at  this  ob- 
stinate resistance,  broke  in  the  doors  of  the  houses,  rushed  in, 
surprised  the  rebels  with  their  weapons  in  their  hands  .  .  .  • 
and  spared  their  lives.  Thus  ended  the  sedition  of  Longo- 
bucco.  in  which,  be  it  noted,  the  most  wicked  deeds  were  com- 
mitted by  the  women. 

In  Ardore,  a  commune  of  Geraci,  there  were  six  carabi- 
neers and  twenty-four  soldiers  of  the  68th  regiment  of 
infantry,  commanded  by  Sub-lieutenant  Gazzone.  On  the 
morning  of  the  4th  of  September  the  people  armed  them- 
selves and  gathered  outside  the  town  to  the  shout  of  "  Death 
to  the  poisoners  !  "  When  they  were  sufficient  in  number, 
they  broke  into  the  place.  Gazzone,  trusting  to  the  sympathy 
which  the  people  had  shown  for  him  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion, moved  quietly  against  the  multitude,  and  tried  to  quiet  it 
with  a  few  kind  words  ;  he  was  answered  by  two  balls  in  his 
chest,  which  killed  him  instantly.  I  will  refrain  from  telling 
you  what  was  done  to  his  body,  in  order  not  to  add  horror  to 
horror.  The  soldiers,  attacked  so  hastily,  powerless  to  resist, 
had  barely  time  to  take  refuge  in  the  carabineers'  barracks,  into 
which  three  families  by  the  name  of  Lo  Schiavo,  whom  the  popu- 
lace thought  guilty  of  poisoning,  and  whose  house  had  been 
burned,  had  fled  in  the  morning.  An  immense  crowd  gath- 
ered in  front  of  the  barracks,  and -demanded  that  the  poisoners 
should  be  given  into  their  hands.  The  head  of  the  families, 


428  MILITARY  LIFE. 

the  elder  Lo  Schiavo,  was  courageous  enough  to  go  to  the  win- 
dow, and  from  there,  with  clasped  hands,  weeping  and  sobbing 
in  a  heart-breaking  way,  beg  the  crowd  to  spare  at  least  the 
women  and  children.  He  was  answered  that  they  would  all 
be  torn  to  bits.  The  poor  father,  in  a  fit  of  desperation, 
fired  into  the  street.  This  was  the  signal  for  assault.  The 
multitude,  uttering  a  loud  cry  of  fury,  dashed  with  axes  against 
the  doors  and  began  to  launch  a  shower  of  balls  and  stones 
against  the  windows.  The  soldiers  defended  themselves  from 
within  by  shots.  The  struggle  lasted  more  than  an  hour. 
Finally,  seeing  that  all  their  efforts  were  in  vain,  the  people  set 
fire  to  the  barracks.  A  horrible  scene  followed.  The  flames, 
which  were  already  enveloping  the  entire  building,  and  the 
walls  beginning  to  crack,  played  through  the  rooms ;  the  air  was 
burning,  and  the  beams  of  the  roof  bursting ;  from  outside 
came  hisses  and  shouts  of  joy,  inside  were  heard  the  despairing 
cries  of  women  and  children  ;  seven  soldiers  and  Lo  Schiavo 
lay  stretched  in  their  blood.  Reduced  to  this  extremity,  the 
corporal,  Albani,  decided  to  attempt  the  only  means  of  escape 
that  remained  ;  he  gathered  the  three  families  into  one  group  ; 
ordered  his  few  soldiers  to  take  the  wounded  on  their  shoul- 
ders ;  then  he,  and  the  others  after  him,  hastily  opened  a  door, 
and,  with  lowered  bayonets,  dashed  head  downward  into  the 
crowd.  The  latter,  astonished  at  such  incredible  audacity, 
gave  way ;  but  hardly  had  they  passed,  when  the  mob  fired  and 
killed  several  members  of  the  unfortunate  family  ;  the  others 
saved  themselves,  partly  in  the  houses,  partly  in  the  country  ; 
the  soldiers  were  not  overtaken.  Two  days  after  this  three 
companies  of  infantry  from  Gerace,  Monteleone,  and  Reggio 
arrived  in  Ardore  and  restored  quiet.  Captain  Onesti,  of  the 


THE   CHOLERA   OF  1867.  429 

staff,  who  took  upon  himself  the  management  of  the  commune 
for  some  time  ;  Major  Gastaldini,  who  was  commanding  the 
military  forces  of  Ardore  and  the  neighborhood  ;  and  Broglia, 
doctor  of  the  battalion,  behaved  in  such  a  way  that  I  cannot 
find  words  with  which  to  praise  them  sufficiently.  I  say  noth- 
ing of  the  soldiers,  who  there,  as  elsewhere,  worked  for  the 
town  with  indefatigable  zeal  and  earnest  pity. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  say  how  the  commanders  of  the  corps 
and  divisions  behaved  during  the  time  the  cholera  lasted, 
because  the  population,  municipalities,  and  the  press  awarded 
them  the  highest  praise  and  gave  full  testimony  of  their  deeds. 
But  among  the  many  names  dear  to  the  army  and  country, 
there  is  one  I  cannot  withhold,  no  matter  how  easily  every 
reader  may  guess  it,  and  have  already  divined,  pernaps  with  a 
spontaneous  heart-throb,  all  that  I  wish  to  say  of  him  :  it  is 
General  Medici. 

What  he  did  from  the  beginning  to  prevent  the  spread- 
ing of  the  cholera  and  to  preserve  the  troops  from  it,  has  been 
already  told.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  what  he  did  afterward. 
At  work  night  and  day  with  mind  and  body,  each  moment 
brought  the  announcement  of  some  fresh  disaster,  or  of  new 
tumults,  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  the  consultations, 
orders,  and  precautions  that  were  necessary.  He  betook  himself 
now  to  one  place,  now  to  another,  in  order  to  assure  himself 
that  the  military  authorities  were  fulfilling  their  duties  ;  he 
visited  barracks,  prisons,  hospitals,  and  the  homes  for  the  con- 
valescent. Noteworthy,  among  others,  was  the  visit  to  Mes- 
sina, where  he  lost  a  very  distinguished  officer  of  his  staff,  the 
good  and  brave  Captain  Tito  Tabacchi ;  and  that  other,  in  the 


430  MILITARY  LIFE, 

days  when  the  cholera  was  raging  most  fiercely  at  Terrasini, 
where  he  entered  the  houses  of  the  poor  to  offer  them  assist- 
ance and  comfort,  and  improvised  hospitals,  gathered  nurses 
together,  and  inspired  so  much  confidence  by  word,  deed,  and 
his  perfect  serenity,  that  he  left  the  place  entirely  changed. 
He  was  always  diligent,  provident,  and  charitable,  but  at  the 
pillow  of  the  sick,  full  of  divine  compassion !  He  went  every 
week  to  the  two  military  hospitals  of  Palermo,  Sesta  Casa,  and 
Sant  'Agata,  visited  them  thoroughly,  asking  about  and  ex- 
amining every  thing,  advising  and  encouraging  the  physicians, 
nurses,  and  sick,  with  the  solicitude  of  a  father.  The  visit  of  the 
fifteenth  of  August,  at  the  height  of  the  epidemic,  is  a  memora- 
ble one.  He  went  to  the  hospital  with  several  officers  of  his 
staff.  He  was  waited  for  at  the  door  of  the  first  ward  by  the 
physicians.  At  his  appearance,  the  nurses  formed  two  lines 
along  the  beds.  Some  of  the  sick,  the  majority  dangerously  ill, 
turned  their  face  toward  the  door.  The  general  approached 
the  first  bed  ;  all  the  others  formed  a  semicircle  around  him  ; 
at  his  side  was  the  medical  director.  The  patient  was  very  ill, 
his  face  was  cadaverous,  his  eyes  sunken  and  bloodshot,  his  lips 
black,  and  his  breathing  labored  and  interrupted  by  heavy 
sobs.  He  was  quite  out  of  his  head.  At  the  approach  of  all 
these  people,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  general's  face,  and  kept 
them  there  fixed  and  motionless  without  any  expression.  The 
doctor  went  up  to  him  and  asked,  as  he  pointed  out  Medici  : 

"  Do  you  know  this  gentleman  ?  " 

The  soldier  looked  at  the  doctor  without  making  any  sign. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ? "  the  latter  repeated. 

Then  he  seemed  to  understand  the  question.  The  physician 
said  in  loud  tones  : 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  431 

"  It  is  General  Medici." 

"  Medici  .  .  .  Medici  .  .  ."  murmured  the  sick  man, 
confusedly  ;  he  looked  at  him,  moved  his  lips  as  if  to  smile  or 
say  a  word,  bent  his  head  as  a  sign  of  assent,  then  came  a  vio- 
lent sob,  his  eyes  become  motionless  and  senseless,  and  he  gave 
no  other  sign  of  understanding.  The  general  looked  anxiously 
at  the  doctor.  "  Not  yet,"  the  latter  replied,  and  on  they  moved. 

In  one  of  the  neighboring  beds  was  a  corporal  who  died  the 
following  day. 

He  was  conscious,  but  much  depressed.  The  skin  of  his 
face  was  shrivelled,  covered  with  livid  spots  and  glistening 
with  a  cold  perspiration.  When  the  general  approached  his 
bed,  he  looked  at  him,  now  half  closing,  now  dilating  his  eyes, 
and  uttering  an  exhausted  groan. 

"How  do  you  feel  ?  "  said  the  general. 

The  man  shook  his  head  slightly  and  turned  his  eyes  up- 
ward in  sign  of  utter  discouragement. 

"  Courage !  my  son  ;  you  must  keep  up  your  spirits  ;  you 
must  think  of  getting  well." 

The  sick  man,  making  an  effort,  murmured  :  "  I  should  not 
be  sorry  to — die." 

"  Die  !  what  are  you  talking  about !  You  must  not  despair, 
my  good  fellow  ;  you  will  get  well  ;  the  physician  says  that  you 
will  recover  ;  is  n't  it  so,  doctor,  he  is  going  to  get  well  ? " 

The  soldier  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the  doctor,  made  a 
motion  with  his  head  as  if  to  say  no,  then  looked  fixedly  at 
Medici,  and  said  in  a  weak  voice  :  "  Thank  you,  general." 

The  latter  bowed  his  head,  stood  thinking  for  a  moment, 
and  then  passed  to  another  bed.  Here  lay  a  soldier  on  the 
road  to  recovery,  who  would  not  take  a  certain  medicine. 


43 2  MILITARY  LIFE, 

"  Why  won't  you  take  it  ?  "  asked  the  general. 

"  It  hurts  me,"  the  former  replied  timidly. 

"  No,  it  does  not  hurt  you,  my  dear  fellow.  Will  you  believe 
me  if  I  taste  it  ?"  and  taking  a  cup  which  the  doctor  handed 
him,  he  swallowed  some  it  and  gave  it  to  the  soldier  who 
was  looking  at  him  in  surprise.  "  Courage,  drink  it !  "  The 
soldier  drank,  made  a  wry  face,  and  then  laughed. 

The  general  asked  another  who  was  to  be  removed  to  the 
home  for  the  convalescents  :  "  How  do  you  feel  now  ? " 

"  How  do  I  feel  ? "  replied  the  soldier.  "  Ah,  Mr.  General, 
very  hungry." 

So  he  moved  gradually  on  through  the  wards  ;  the  sick,  who 
were  able  to  do  so,  rose  to  a  sitting  position,  or  raised  them- 
selves slightly  on  their  elbows,  listening  attentively  and  stretch- 
ing out  their  necks  to  hear  what  he  was  saying,  and  to  look  him 
in  the  face. 

The  last  one  visited  was  a  dying  man.  His  face  was  dis- 
torted beyond  recognition,  with  that  imprint  of  old  age,  that 
expression  of  great  fear,  which  is  peculiar  to  cholera  patients, 
and  which,  once  seen,  is  never  forgotten.  He  was  raving, 
murmuring  indistinct  words,  moving  his  arms  incessantly,  and 
picking  at  his  counterpane  as  if  looking  for  something,  or 
raising  his  hands  as  if  to  seize  something  that  was  floating  be- 
fore his  eyes.  He  was  a  young  sergeant  who,  in  those  sad  days 
of  the  cholera,  had  given  every  possible  proof  of  courage,  con- 
stancy, and  charity.  "  He  has  only  a  few  more  hours  to  live," 
said  the  doctor  in  an  undertone.  The  general  looked  a  long 
time  at  him  with  a  sad  and  thoughtful  face.  He  was  certainly 
thinking  that  that  brave  young  fellow  was  dying  far  from  his 
own,  without  any  comfort  or  any  tears  ;  he  thought  of  his 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  433 

family,  of  so  many  others  dying  like  him,  so  many  other 
families  like  his  own,  who  would  be  deprived  of  their  dearest 
members.  .  .  .  Suddenly  he  started,  gave  a  sigh,  and 
moved  off,  saying:  "He  has  spent  his  life  nobly."  And  the 
others  all  followed  him  silently. 

The  last  province  in  which  the  cholera  raged  at  the  end  of 
'67  was  that  of  Reggio  di  Calabria.  It  had  already  ceased  in 
Sicily.  During  the  first  days  of  September,  the  long  and  fre- 
quent rains  having  produced  a  marked  depression  in  the  at- 
mosphere, the  cholera  had  begun  to  decrease  slowly  in  the 
provinces  of  Palermo  and  Messina,  and  rapidly  in  those  of 
Trapani,  Girgenti,  Syracuse,  Catania,  and  Caltanisetta.  It 
broke  out  again  in  these  two  cities  toward  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember ;  but  only  for  a  few  days.  After  which  the  general  health 
improved  in  all  parts  of  the  island,  so  that  in  the  month  of 
October  the  army  only  lost  twenty  men,  and  November  seven,  in 
December  none,  or  one  or  two  at  most.  From  the  beginning 
of  the  decrease  of  the  epidemic,  the  cities,  villages,  and  country 
changed  their  entire  aspect.  The  first  terror,  which  had 
crushed  every  feeling  of  love  of  country  or  charity  in  the 
hearts  of  the  majority  of  the  citizens,  having  subsided,  the 
fugitives,  the  greater  number  of  whom  were  rich  or  well-to-do 
people,  began  to  return  to  their  homes,  and  to  scatter  among 
the  indigent  population  that  assistance,  in  the  way  of  money, 
work,  and  advice,  which  they  had  denied  at  first.  And  the 
people  took  courage  instantly,  and,  as  if  waking  from  a  pro- 
found and  painful  lethargy,  returned  little  by  little  to  the  ordi- 
nary duties  of  life,  which  had  been  laid  aside  or  performed  at 
intervals,  with  an  inertia  and  a  species  of  timid  bewilderment 


434  MILITARY  LIFE. 

under  that  continuous  danger  and  before  that  continual  spec- 
tacle of  death.  The  streets,  squares,  shops,  were  filled,  the 
workshops  opened  once  more,  commerce  began  to  revive,  and 
the  joyful  sound  of  labor  sprang  up  where  solitude  and  silence 
had  reigned  before,  or  only  the  lament  of  the  dying  or  beggars 
had  been  heard.  The  public  administrations,  deserted  by 
dead,  fugitive,  or  expelled  officials,  were  put  in  working  order 
again  ;  were  reorganized,  and  upheld  by  those  citizens  who  had 
abandoned  them  at  first ;  they  began  to  dedicate  themselves  to 
the  needs  of  the  country  in  an  active,  intelligent,  and  quiet 
way.  The  highwaymen,  rendered  audacious  by  the  general 
confusion  and  fright,  and  scarcity  of  the  troops,  who  were 
interested  for  the  most  part  in  graver  duties,  had  committed 
every  kind  of  depredation  in  city  and  country.  On  perceiving 
now,  that,  with  the  cessation  of  the  cholera,  the  military  forces 
would  all  turn  against  them  with  renewed  vigor,  they  began  to 
restrain  themselves,  and  the  condition  of  the  public  se- 
curity suddenly  improved.  The  soldiers  had  a  little  rest 
at  last,  could  indulge  in  unbroken  and  quiet  slumber  at  night, 
and  during  the  day  they  could  eat,  in  peace,  their  black  bread, 
which  had  been  earned  by  such  long  and  wearisome  labors. 

Like  the  convalescent,  who,  when  returning  to  the  usages  of 
every-day  life,  is  amused  by  every  thing,  glad  to  see  every 
person,  and  attends  with  the  greatest  solicitude  and  joy  to  all 
those  duties  which^ie  formerly  neglected  or  disliked,  so  the 
soldiers,  on  abandoning  that  life  so  full  of  labor  and  sadness, 
took  up  their  ordinary  occupations,  even  those  that  had  seemed 
most  irksome  at  first,  as  a  sort  of  amftsement  ;  almost  all  of 
them  felt  a  freshness  of  affection  and  hope,  a  great  joyfulness,  a 
powerful  desire  to  open  their  hearts  to  one  another,  to  become 


THE  CHOLERA    OF  1867.  435 

expansive,  and  to  fraternize.  Throughout  the  barracks  re- 
sounded once  more  the  songs,  shouts,  and  that  noisy  bustle  of 
life  which  had  entirely  ceased  for  so  long  a  time  ;  every  thing 
was  changed  and  revivified. 

But  in  order  to  form  a  just  idea  of  the  feelings  of  the  soldiers 
in  those  days,  it  was  necessary  to  enter  the  hospitals  of  the  con- 
valescents, where  the  rest  and  silence  left  their  thoughts  and 
minds  at  perfect  liberty. 

Let  us  enter  a  moment  to  give  a  last  greeting  to  our  good 
and  brave  soldiers. 

Toward  the  end  of  September,  that  same  year,  a  soldier  of 
the  pth  regiment  of  infantry  wrote  me  a  letter  from  Catania, 
begging  me  to  tell  in  some  military  journal  what  had  been  done 
for  his  comrades  and  himself  by  the  officers  of  his  regiment. 
He  had  been  ill  with  the  cholera,  and  was  almost  well,  so  wrote 
me  from  a  convent  where  his  colonel  had  established  a  hospital 
for  convalescents,  and  where  he  had  been  for  more  than  a 
month.  "  Here  we  are,"  says  the  letter,  "  after  so  many  perils 
and  misfortunes,  still  alive,  for  a  wonder."  Then  follows  a  long 
description  of  the  convent,  situated  on  a  little  hill  and  entirely 
surrounded  by  beautiful  gardens,  where  the  convalescents  could 
go  for  recreation  ;  with  a  spacious  court-yard,  filled  with  large 
trees,  under  the  shade  of  which  they  used  to  walk  a  great 
part  of  the  day,  chatting,  reading,  or  playing  at  draughts  with 
stones  !  He  told  me  then  that  each  one  of  them  had  a  cell  to 
himself  with  a  window  on  the  garden  ;  that  in  his,  the  ivy  had 
grown  about  the  grating,  and  that  the  branches  of  trees  came 
in  through  the  bars.  "  We  have  a  good  bed,  two  chairs,  and 
have  become  as  fond  of  the  little  rooms  as  if  they  were  our 
homes.  I  keep  every  thing  clean  and  in  order  in  mine,  just  like 


MILITARY  LIFE. 

a  woman  who  thinks  of  nothing  but  her  family  and  her  house." 
Then  he  told  me  of  the  food,  which  was  excellent,  and  indulged 
in  encomiums  upon  and  thanks  to  the  directors  of  the  hos- 
pital. "  It  must  be  confessed  that  we  liVe  very  well.  Just 
fancy :  meat  morning  and  night,  and  good  wine  and  soup. 
We  are  more  than  content.  In  case  you  desire  to  publish  what 
I  have  written,  pray  be  kind  enough  to  give  the  names  of  those 
to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  all  this  kind  care.  They  are 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Croce  and  Captain  Mirto,  the  two  directors 
of  the  hospital ;  and  Dr.  Longhi,  who  has  done  all  that  he  could 
for  the  soldiers,  and  to  whom  we  are  deeply  attached."  Then 
he  described  the  groups  of  convalescents,  seated  under  the 
shade  of  the  trees  in  the  court,  pale,  exhausted,  with  sunken 
eyes  ;  who  talked  of  past  events,  dangers  which  they  had  en- 
countered, and  the  sufferings  endured,  and  comforted  them- 
selves with  the  thought  of  their  distant  families,  to  whom  sooner 
or  later  they  should  return.  "  Oh,  how  gladly,"  he  added,  "  as 
you  can  imagine,  after  so  long  a  time,  so  many  experiences,  and 
an  illness  of  this  kind  !  "  From  that  letter,  written  so  simply  and 
with  so  much  ingenuousness,  I  felt  in  a  measure  imbued  with  the 
calm,  weary  quiet  that  must  have  reigned  in  that  silent  enclos- 
ure ;  the  first  time  that  I  read  it  I  seemed  to  see  those  poor,  thin, 
worn  faces,  and  to  hear  the  weak,  slow  voices.  At  a  certain 
hour  the  officers  came  to  visit  the  soldiers  of  their  companies. 
It  was  a  delightful  sight  !  One  could  see  those  good  fellows 
rise  with  difficulty  to  their  feet,  carry  their  thin  hands  to  their 
caps,  and  in  replying  to  the  anxious  questions  of  their  officers, 
show  their  gratitude  by  a  smile  in  which  affection  and  respect 
mingled  in  the  loveliest  and  gentlest  way. 

The  letter  of  my  soldier  ends  at  this  point,  and  I  stop  with 


THE  CHOLERA   OF  1867.  437 

him, — stop  with  the  picture  before  my  eyes  of  that  smile  of 
gratitude  which  moves  and  affects  me  deeply. 

The  cholera  of  1867  was  a  great  misfortune  for  the  army 
not  less  than  for  the  country,  but  one  not  without  its  good 
results. 

The  army  gained  advantage  in  discipline,  and  it  is  easy  to 
understand  in  what  way.  Even  for  those  soldiers  to  whom  the 
discipline  seemed  hardest,  on  account  of  their  obstinacy,  lack 
of  docility,  or  because  they  were  quite  wanting  in  any  idea  of 
country  or  nationality  and  unable  to  comprehend  either  it,  or 
the  necessity  for  military  rigor, — even  for  these  soldiers, 
in  the  midst  of  the  misfortunes  caused  by  the  cholera,  the 
discipline  lost  all  that  had  at  first  seemed  odious  and  insup- 
portable, and  assumed  quite  a  different  aspect.  Naturally, 
even  the  roughest  minds,  understanding  how  much  there  was 
that  was  noble  and  generous  in  doing  and  suffering  for  the 
public  health,  saw,  too,  that  if  instead  of  being  soldiers, 
united  and  subject  to  discipline,  they  had  been  peasants  or 
operatives,  who  were  free  and  independent,  they  would  prob- 
ably all  have  fled  from  every  duty  or  peril,  and  each  provided 
for  his  own  individual  safety.  They  felt,  therefore,  that  a  part 
of  the  merit  of  their  noble  work  did  not  belong  to  them,  and 
they  ascribed  it  tacitly  to  that  discipline,  the  sad  consequences 
of  the  lack  of  which,  they  saw  and  experienced  every  day  in 
the  other  classes  of  the  population.  The  more  they  admitted 
the  good  intention  of  all  those  laws  and  of  all  those  measures 
which  they  had  at  first  considered  as  unreasonable  and  useless 
aggravations,  the  more  they  saw  the  effects  which  issued  from 
their  own  hands,  and  which  they  could  not  help  admiring  and 
being  proud  of,  they  gradually  formed  a  just  idea  of  discipline, 


MILITARY  LIFE, 

and  resigned  themselves  to  it  as  a  salutary  necessity.  Besides 
this,  that  domesticity,  that  fraternizing  which  springs  up  and 
increases  so  rapidly  between  the  officers  and  soldiers  in  the 
occasion  of  great  perils  or  common  misfortunes,  had  made  the 
most  obtuse  and  malevolent  understand  that  if,  in  the  connec- 
tions of  ordinary  life,  there  is  a  rigorous  and  unalterable  divi- 
sion, that  does  not  arise  from  a  spontaneous  desire  on  the  part 
of  the  officer,  but  from  custom,  from  a  general  rule  dictated 
by  the  need  of  discipline  and  recognized  by  all  as  necessary, 
either  from  intuition  or  experience.  This  being  fully  un- 
derstood, there  naturally  disappeared  all  those  grudges  and 
rancors  generally  felt  by  quarrelsome  soldiers  against  the 
austere  and  inexorable  officers, — an  ill  feeling  which,  for 
the  most  part,  is  produced  by  a  false  amour  propre,  and 
which  diffidence  and  timidity  only  increase  ;  and  they  did  dis- 
appear in  fact.  In  the  face  of  that  continual  spectacle  of 
misfortune,  in  the  midst  of  that  solemn  unanimity  of  affection 
and  good-will,  every  one  understood  quite  clearly  how  petty 
and  selfish  his  personal  hates  and  resentments  were,  and  felt 
them  disappear  from  his  heart  of  their  own  accord  without 
his  being  obliged  to  fight  them.  Besides  this,  the  opera- 
tions of  the  officers  and  soldiers  had  been  for  a  long  time  of 
such  a  nature,  that  the  orders  of  the  superiors  mingled,  not 
only  in  substance,  but  also  in  form,  with  the  most  simple  pre- 
cepts of  religion,  taught  by  mothers  to  their  young  children. 
Certain  talks  which  the  officers  had  with  the  soldiers  might  be 
repeated  word  for  word  by  a  sacred  orator  on  parchment,  and 
certain  orders  for  the  day  by  the  colonels  were  taken  purely 
from  the  Gospel.  Therefore,  it  was  not  possible  that  even 
the  most  ignorant  and  stupid  soldiers  could  rebel  at  the 


THE   CHOLERA    OF  1867.  439 

orders  of  their  superiors,  or  could  doubt  the  rectitude,  discuss 
the  fitness,  or  deny  the  duty  of  obedience.  Thus,  little  by 
little,  the  sentiment  of  religion  took  the  place  of  that  of  dis- 
cipline, and  that  which  would  have  been  done  unwillingly  from 
force,  was  done  most  gladly  from  an  impulse  of  charity.  On 
the  other  hand,  that  affectionate  solicitude  which  the  officers 
had  displayed  for  the  soldiers  on  every  occasion,  in  visiting 
them  in  the  hospitals,  assisting  them  with  their  own  money, 
comforting,  counselling,  and  protecting  them,  had  produced 
such  an  effect,  that  in  the  hearts  of  the  latter  the  senti- 
ments of  gratitude  and  duty  intermingled  in  such  a  way  as  to 
take  away  even  the  idea  that  they  could  be  separated  or 
opposed.  Understanding  discipline  as  it  is  and  ought  to  be, 
understanding  the  principles  upon  which  it  is  based  and  moves, 
the  aims  to  which  it  tends,  and  the  effects  it  obtains,  even  the 
intellect  of  the  humblest  soldier  takes  in  this  great  edifice,  the 
army  ;  comprehends  the  praiseworthy  combination  and  har- 
mony of  the  forces  by  which  it  is  ruled ;  feels  that  they  are 
foundations  for  the  warmest  affections  of  the  family,  and  the 
most  sacred  laws  of  religion  •,  and  as  he  goes  on  contemplating 
the  whole,  he  sees  it  rise  and  become  illumined  on  a  height 
which  neither  the  declamations  of  philosophers  nor  the  com- 
plaints of  the  common  people  can  reach.  This  was  the  effect 
produced  upon  the  soldiers  ;  in  this  way  discipline  was  en- 
forced. 

And  the  country  ? 

The  most  splendid  proof  of  the  effect  produced  upon  the 
country  by  the  magnificent  conduct  of  the  army  was  given  by 
the  Sicilian  people  at  the  end  of  '67,  and  has  been  repeated  re- 
cently,— the  dearest  proof  that  could  be  given  to  the  army 


440  MILITARY  LIFE. 

and  to  Italy, — the  admirable  result  of  the  conscription.  Oh  f 
that  people,  so  full  of  pride,  daring,  and  fire,  cannot  help  giving 
us  brave  soldiers  ! 

And  what  was  the  soldier's  reward  ? 

One  evening,  after  the  roll-call  at  retreat,  the  quartermaster- 
sergeant  read  the  colonel's  order  for  the  day,  in  which  he  said  : 
"  You  have  done  your  duty!  " 


RECENT  VOLUMES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Spain  and  the  Spaniards.  By  EDMONDO  DE  AMICIS,  author  of 
"  Studies  of  Paris,"  "  Holland,"  etc.  Octavo,  with  full-page  illustrations, 
$2.00. 

"  Rarely  do  we  meet  with  a  more  generous  writer.  He  tells  us  that  the 
first  feeling  that  inspires  him  in  visiting  a  foreign  country  is  sympathy, — a 
desire  not  to  find  any  thing  to  censure,  but  to  pardon  what  seem  to  be  de- 
fects. If  there  were  more  of  this  spirit  abroad  among  us  the  literature  of 
travel  would  be  oftener  enriched  by  such  books  as  this,  where  the  truth  is 
never  sacrificed  or  exaggerated  for  effect,  and  where  there  is  such  excellent 
evidence  of  honest  judgment  and  acute  observation  set  forth  amid  picturesque 
effects."— AT  Y.  Critic. 

Unbeaten  Tracks  in  Japan.  By  ISABELLA  BIRD,  author  of  "A 
Lady's  Life  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,"  etc.  2  vols.,  octavo,  bevelled  boards, 
illustrated,  $5.00.  Also  "The  Popular  Edition,"  2  vols.  in  I,  illustrated, 
$3.00. 

''Beyond  question  the  most  valuable  and  the  most  interesting  of  recent 
books  concerning  Japanese  travel.  *  *  *  One  of  the  most  profitable  of 
recent  travel  records." — Evening  Post. 

Six  Months  Among  the  Palm  Groves,  Coral  Reefs,  and  Vol- 
canoes of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  By  ISABELLA  BIRD,  author  of 
"  Unbeaten  Tracks  in  Japan,"  etc.  A  new  and  cheaper  edition.  Octavo, 
cloth,  illustrated,  $2.50. 

Norsk,  Lapp,  and  Finn.  By  FRANK  VINCENT,  Jr.  .author  of  "The 
Land  of  the  White  Elephant,"  "  Through  and  Through  the  Tropics,"  etc. 
Octavo,  cloth,  with  frontispiece  and  map,  $1.50. 

"  Under  the  above  title  Frank  Vincent,  Jr.,  has  produced  a  book  which  is 
full  of  interesting  and  instructive  matter,  and  which,  we  have  no  doubt,  will 
find  a  large  number  of  appreciative  readers." — N.  Y.  Herald. 

"  A  most  interesting  book  of  travel." — Denver  Republican. 

A  Scandinavian  Summer — Up  to  the  Midnight  Sun.  By  KATHARINE 
E.  TYLER.  Octavo,  cloth,  $1.75. 

A  fresh  and  picturesque  narrative  of  a  summer  ramble  in  the  far  North  by 
a  writer  who  evidently  knows  what  to  observe  and  how  to  describe. 

Cuban  Sketches.     By  JAMES  W.  STEELE.     Octavo,  cloth  extra,  $1.50. 

CONTENTS. — Going  There — First  Impressions — In  General — The  Cuban 
at  Home — The  Spaniard  in  Cuba — La  Senorita — Spanish  Rule — War  Times 
— Toilers — The  Town — Rural  Cuba — Tropical  Weather — Domestic  Institu- 
tions— Municipal  Conveniences — Passions  and  Amusements — Mother  Church 
— What  We  Eat — Island  Ideas — The  American  in  Cuba. 

Graphic  studies  of  life  and  character  by  an  old  resident,  who  has  a  keen 
sense  of  humor  and  an  exceptionally  picturesque  style. 

***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers. 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,     27  &  29  West  23d  St.,  New  York. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR'S  TRAVELS. 

Eldorado  ;    OR,    ADVENTURES   IN    THE    PATH    OF    EMPIRE 

(Mexico  and  California).     i2mo.     Houshold  edition,  $1.50 

"  To  those  who  have  more  recently  pitched  their  tents  in  California,  the 

narrative  of  Taylor  will  have  interest  as  assisting  them  to  appreciate  the 

wondrous  changes  that  have  been  affected  in  this  region  since  the  days  of 

turmoil,  excitement,  and  daring  speculation  of  which  the  tourist  speaks."— 

Sacramento  Union. 

Central  Africa.  LIFE  AND  LANDSCAPE  FROM  CAIRO  TO 
THE  WHITE  NILE.  Two  plates  and  cuts.  i2mo.  House- 
hold edition, "  -.  .  $1.50 

"  We  have  read  many  of  Bayard  Taylor's  readable  books — and  he  never 
wrote  one  that  was  not  extremely  interesting — but  we  have  never  been  so 
well  pleased  with  any  of  his  writings  as  we  arc  with  the  volume  ncnv  before 
us,  '  A  Journey  to  Central  Africa.'  " — Binghamton  Republican. 

Greece   and   Russia.     WITH    AN    EXCURSION   TO  CRETE. 

Two  plates.     i2mo.     Household  edition,        .         .     $1.50 

"  In  point  of  flowing  narrative  and  graphic  description,  this  volume  is 

fully  equal  to  the  previous  works  which  have  given  Mr.  Bayaid  Taylor  such 

an  eminent  place  among  modern  travellers." — Harper's  Montniy. 

Home  and  Abroad.  A  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  LIFE,  SCENERY, 
AND  MEN.  Two  plates.  12010.  Household  edition,  $1.50 

(Second  Series.)     With  two  plates.     i2mo.     Household 

edition, $i-5° 

"  This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  books  that  Bayard  Taylor  has  ever 
made.  It  is  in  a  large  measure  autobiographical.  Whatever  has  most  im- 
pressed him  in  any  part  of  the  earth  is  noted  in  some  one  of  these  letters." 
—  Taunt  on  Gazette. 

"A  volume  from  Bayard  Taytdr  is  always  a  pleasure.  He  not  only 
knows  how  to  travel  and  how  to  enjoy  it,  but  he  excels  in  giving  entertain- 
ment by  his  narration  to  others." — Bangor  Whig. 

India,   China,  and   Japan.     Two  plates,     i2mo.     House- 
hold edition,  .......     $1.50 

"  Of  all  travellers,  no  one  pleases  us  more  than  Bayard  Taylor.  He  sees 
w'nat  we  most  desire  that  he  should  see,  and  he  tells  us  that  which  we  most 
desire  to  know." — New  Bedford  Met cury. 

Land  of  the  Saracen ;  OR,  PICTURES  OF  PALESTINE, 
ASIA  MINOR,  SICILY,  AND  SPAIN.  With  two  plates. 
i2mo.  Household  edition  .....  $1.50 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P,  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR'S  TRAVELS. 

(CONTINUED.) 

Northern  Travel.     SUMMER    AND    WINTER    PICTURES   OF 

SWEDEN,    DENMARK,  AND    LAPLAND.     With   two   plates. 

i  zmo.     Household  edition,     .....     $1.50 

"  There  is  no  romance  to  us  quite  equal  to  one  of  Bayard  Taylor's  books 

if  travel." — Hartford  Republican. 

Views    Afoot ;   OR,   EUROPE   SEEN    WITH    KNAPSACK    AND 
STAFF,     izmo.     Household  edition,     .         .         .     $i  50 
"  We  need  say  nothing  in  praise  of  Bayard  Taylor's  writings.     He  travels 
in  every  direction,  and  sees  and  hears  pretty  much  all  that  is  worth  seeing 
and  hearing.     His  descriptions  are  accurate,  and  always  reliable  and  in- 
teresting."— Syracuse  Jouinal. 

By- Ways  of  Europe.     i2mo.     Household  edition,     $i  50 

CONTENTS 

A  Familiar  Letter  to  the  Reader. — A  Cruise  on  Lake  Lagoda. — Between 
Europe  and  Asia. — Winter-Life  in  St.  Petersburgh. — The  Little  Land  of 
Appenzell. — From  Perpignan  to  Montserrat. — Balearic  Days. — Catalonian 
Bridle-Roads. — The  Republic  of  the  Pyrenees. — The  Grand  Chartreuse. — 
The  Kyffhauser  and  its  Legends. — A  Week  at  Capri. — A  Trip  to  Ischia. — 
The  Land  of  Paoli. — The  Island  of  Maddalena. — In  the  Teutoberger 
Ferest. — The  Suabian  Alps. 

Egypt   and    Iceland   in   the   Year   1874.     i6mo,  cloth 

extra, $1.50 

i2mo,  uniform  with  Household  edition  of  the  Works,  $1.50 


Bayard   Taylor's  Latest  Work. 

Studies  in  German  Literature.  Edited  by  MARIE 
TAYLOR.  With  an  introduction  by  Hon.  GEO.  H.  BOKER. 
8vo,  cloth  extra,  .  .  .  .  .  $2  co 


CONTENTS 


Earliest  German  Literature. — The  Minnesingers. — The  Mediaeval  Epics. 
The  Nibelungenlied. — The  Literature  of  the  Reformation. — The  Litera- 
ture of  the  Seventeenth  Century. — Lessing. — Klopstock,  Wieland  and 
Herder. — Schiller. — Goethe. — Goethe's  Faust. — Richter. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS. 

A   NEW   VOLUME   BY    "JOHN    LATOUCHK." 

PORTUGAL,  OLD  AND  NEW.  By  OSWALD  CRAWFURD,  British 
Consul  at  Oporto.  Octavo,  with  maps  and  illustrations,  cloth 
extra,  . $35° 

Mr.  Crawfurd,  who  is  better  known  in  literature  under  his  nont  de  flume  of 
John  Latouche,  has  resided  for  many  years  in  Portugal  and  has  had  exceptional  op- 
oortunities  for  becoming  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  country  and  its  people. 

"The  whole  book,  indeed,  is  excellent,  giving  the  reader  not  information 
only,  but  appreciation  of  Portugal,  its  climate,  its  people  and  its  ways.  It  is  not  a 
book  of  travel,  but  a  book  of  residences,  if  we  may  say  so." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  Mr.  Crawfurd's  admirable  book  is  most  opportune,  and  his  long  residence  in 
the  country,  his  intimate  and  critical  knowledge  of  the  language,  history,  poetry,  and 
the  inner  life  of  the  people,  render  him  an  authority  as  safe  to  follow  as  ne  is  pleas- 
ant. *  *  *  The  book  is  excellent  in  every  way.'—  A  thenceum. 

"  A  more  agreeable  account  of  Portugal  and  the  Portuguese  could  scarcely 
have  been  written,  and  it  will  surprise  us  if  the  book  does  not  live  as  one  of  the  best 
descriptions  we  possess  of  a  foreign  nation." — St.  James  Gazette. 

A  FORBIDDEN  LAND  ;  OR,  VOYAGES  TO  THE  COREA. 

With  full  description  of  the  manners,  customs,  history,  etc.,  of  a  com- 
munity of  some  16,000,000  people  hitherto  almost  entirely  unknown. 
By  ERNST  OPPERT.  Octavo,  with  maps  and  illustrations,  $3  oo 

"  The  author  combines  a  story  of  his  personal  adventures,  with  a  most  intel- 
ligible description  of  the  country,  its  inhabitants,  their  customs,  and  of  everything 
which  would  help  his  readers  to  form  a  correct  idea  of  what  he  himself  saw  and 
learned." — The  Churchman. 

"  Sure  to  be  eagerly  and  widely  read  *  *  *  contains  almost  the  only  au- 
thentic description  of  Corea  and  its  people  with  which  the  public  are  familiar." — San 
Francisco  Bulletin. 

"  Full  of  data  of  the  highest  value  on  the  geography  and  history  of  Corea,  its 
commercial  value  and  products?' — New  York  Times. 

"  Mr.  Oppert  has  made  a  book  of  rare  interest." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  His  personal  narrative  is  one  of  great  interest  *  *  *  he  is  rewarded  for 
his  enterprise  in  being  able  to  communicate  so  much  novel  and  valuable  information 
in  regard  to  a  country  which  has  so  long  remained  beyond  the  scope  of  geographical 
research." — New  York  Tribune. 

ROMAN  DAYS.  By  VIKTOR  RYDBERG.  Translated  by  ALFRED 
CORNING  CLARK,  with  Memoir  of  the  author  by  H.  A.  W.  LINDEHN. 
Octavo,  cloth.  Illustrated $2  oo 

The  volume  embodies  the  results  of  careful  historical  studies,  and  gives  some 
legendary  matters  not  heretofore  brought  forward.  The  art  criticisms  are  the  work 
ofa  poet  and  scholar ;  the  brief  historical  and  topographical  sketches,  those  of  a  clear- 
headed philosopher  and  eager  traveller,  a  quick  observer,  a  man  of  general  and  thor- 
ough culture.  The  book  is  a  picturesque  mosaic  of  the  many  brilliant,  sober,  gay, 
comic,  dramatic,  tragic,  poetic,  vulgar  elements  that  make  up  the  past  history  of  that 
wonderful  city  and  the  physiognomy  it  bears  to-day. 

"  We  welcome  this  work  from  the  hardy  North  for  its  broad  scholarship,  its 
freshness  and  ripeness.  The  articles  betray  an  artistic  discrimination  rare  in  one  not 
a  sculptor  by  profession  and  experienced  and  enthusiastic  in  that  art.  Rydberg  pos- 
sesses the  pure  plastic  spirit." — A^.  Y.  Herald. 


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